


Bloodlust and Lovelust

by syringa101



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Beta Wanted, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Board Games, Bonding, Controlling bloodlust, Derek Hale & Scott McCall are Both Alphas, Derek Helps Stiles, Derek to the Rescue, Derek's Loft, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Don't Like Don't Read, Dubious Consent, Emotional Stiles, Fluff, Frottage, I try, I'll add more tags as the story progresses, Internal Conflict, It is now, Kinda, Loss of Control, Lots of alone time together in, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Murder, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Stiles, Panic Attacks, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles doesn't understand when Derek is eye-fucking, Stiles struggles, Stiles-centric, Swearing, Torture, Vampire biting kink, Walking In On Someone, but more so Sheriff, dark!stiles, house arrest, humor-ish, if that's a thing, scott is an okay friend, sleeping, they help each other, this exists in a void bc I didnt bother trying to remember the plot of the actual show, vampire!Stiles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syringa101/pseuds/syringa101
Summary: Stiles is turned into a vampire.He hates himself and everything he's become as he struggles to overcome his lust for blood. What he didn't anticipate is having to deal with his feelings towards Derek.But doing all of that is pretty hard when he's living in Derek's loft, under house arrest.





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles didn't know how it had happened. He had told Derek and Scott he would meet them at Derek's loft but he never made it. He couldn't remember how it started, one minute he was walking to Derek's loft and now he was down the block being held to the ground in a choke hold. A strong painful choking choke hold.

He couldn't see the man, or werewolf, due to the lack in daylight. He couldn't move either. The man (it was obviously a male because of his built body and overpowering strength) had pinned him down to the pavement. Stiles clawed at the single arm gripping his neck as his body flailed about, trying to knock off the offender. It was useless, he knew, but he still tried. His life depended on him trying.

His knee came up, roughly jabbing the man in the groin. For a split second the man faltered to the side, groaning, and Stiles made a move to jump up. Yet, the knee wasn't enough to completely throw his offender off. Stiles was thrown back down on the cement with a painful thud and the man was back on top, straddling the teenager. The big hand of the man went back to his throat, painfully choking him again. Stiles gasped for air, trying to get some into his lungs, which burned, yet he was powerless against the beastly man holding him.

"You're a feisty human, aren't yah?" The man's gruff voice spoke. He could have sworn he saw a flash of something long and sharp pointing out of his mouth. "Good thing I'm in the right mood for a hot snack." Stiles knew immediately this wasn't a human, this person was far from it.

"G...gert... off... m-me..." Stiles struggled to say. He was starting to see stars now, his vision failing him. The pain in his back was starting to ache more and more the longer he was pushed against it.

"Not until after I get what I came for," The man hissed, momentarily pulling his hand back. "You come find me when you're done."

Stiles couldn't make sense of the words. What did this man mean? Either way, he couldn't stop to think too long because suddenly the man was leaning forward, putting his lips to Stiles' bare neck. Goosebumps rose and he tried to move, but the man grabbed his wrists holding them to his stomach. One of the man's hands came up and he bit his own wrist, drawing blood.

"Open up," Stiles clamped his mouth shut, refusing to open. The man laughed a little and forced his jaw open, then pushed his bloody wrist into Stiles' mouth. "Now swallow."

Something about the way the man said it, made Stiles obey. No matter how hard he resisted, he couldn't. Then with a mouthful of blood, he reluctantly swallowed it, gagging horribly in the process. The blood was warm, taunting him to like it. But he didn't. He told himself he didn't like it. A small part of him did though. A small part of him wanted to suck more and swallow more. Then the feeling was gone and he wanted to push the man's hand away and go home. He wanted to be away from this monster.  He wanted to run and be alone. Then the wrist was gone. Stiles gasped, filling his lungs with air.

"This is gonna hurt," The man's breath tickled the skin on his neck and he swallowed deeply.

Stiles shut his eyes, knowing he couldn't do anything more. With his body weak and his mind fuzzy from the blood, fatigue and nausea swept over him. But before he could do anything more, the man had given a small laugh before plunging his teeth into the side of the Stiles' neck, hitting the main artery and drawing blood. Lots of blood. Pain shot through his body instantaneously as the fangs made the contact. The man was right. It did hurt. A lot. Stiles screamed bloody murder and hoped for the best before passing out, the taste of the man's blood still on his lips.

* * *

  
Stiles' hearing was coming to him as he began to wake.

"That's not a wolf bite, Scott!" Was that Derek speaking?

"You think I don't know that?!" Scott was there too.

The pain hit him then, but he was too weak to do anything about it. He whimpered a little as it spread, firing him. His whole body lit in invisible flames.

Then he heard Lydia speak; "He has lost a lot of blood."

"He's gonna be okay, Lydia." Jackson was there? Reassuring Lydia?

"You don't know that!" A few people started talking at once.

"Can we all just calm down?!" Deaton's voice boomed over everyone's, making Stiles cringe.

That caused a ripple effect and started his whole body with throbbing bursts of pain. He cried out, his hearing taken over by a strong ringing and a headache worse than anything. His hands moved to his head and he dipped a little, falling to the floor a short distance. And suddenly he could feel someone handling him, hurting his body, probably not anything intentional but it still hurt. He cried louder, falling into a person. They stood still, not comforting him or anything. Nobody else touched him.

After a couple minutes the ringing in his head stopped and the pain had dissipated, leaving him shaking in a state of shock. Someone touched his shoulder and he immediately recoiled in pain, pressing harder against the person supporting him.

"Stiles." It was Lydia. "Can you hear me?" Had she been the one who touched his shoulder?

He couldn't respond, didn't know how. He made a whimpering noise in the back of his throat and gripped the person's tee shirt. They stayed like that for a while and Stiles took deep breaths, trying to calm.

"Stiles?" Scott asked, worry surfacing in his voice. Who was he cuddling up against then, if not Scott? "How are you feeling?"

"Ehhh...." He shut his eyes tightly, gripping the material harder in his hands. "It hurts to move."

"Okay... can you-"

Deaton interrupted with, "Found it!" The sound of shuffling filled the room, making Stiles wonder what was going on. The person he was pressed against didn't move, so neither did he. "Stiles, you were bitten by a Lamia."

"What's that?" Someone asked quickly.

Deaton elaborated, "It's the Latin word for... vampires..."

"Are you telling me that Stiles had one of those blood sucking freaks hanging off his neck?" He must have nodded because Stiles didn't hear a reply. "Is there any damage other than blood loss?"

"There is... a possibility that there could be side effects..." Stiles swallowed, what had that monster done to him? Did it have something to do with what the man had said?

"Depending on the events leading up to bite."

"As in?" Lydia asked, urgently.

"Hunger... for human or animal blood." There was a few murmurs that went around before Deaton spoke again. "This is a possibility... I'm not saying that-"

"He'll turn into one?" Scott intervened.

Stiles heard his own heart speed up along with the person he was leaning against. He wouldn't become a vampire would he?

"I honestly don't know. Only if the Lamia gave him some of his own blood."

Stiles froze. That was exactly what happened. He remembered the man shoving his wrist into his mouth and demanding him to drink. It was horrible. It was painful.

"But there is a strong likelihood of him turning into... a vampire?" Scott asked, wanting the truth.

"Yes..." Stiles croaked. He nodded, still not able to do anything because of the pain. "The man..." He trailed off. "He... uh... made me drink his blood. Then he bit me in the neck."

Nobody said anything for a second.

"Is there a cure?" Lydia asked, quietly.

"I haven't found one yet," He told her. Stiles' heart dropped. "There's not many records of these Lamia. The ones that we do have, show no indication of cures or normality in human nature after the transformation."

Stiles heard footsteps, almost like some one was pacing. "How much time does he have?" Scott asked, "Is it like a werewolf bite? Can he reject the bite? How does he become one of those... Lamia...?"

"I don't know," Deaton told him. "What I do know is that he needs to be moved to a proper bed, so he can rest."

"I'll take him," Derek's gruff voice came from behind him and vibrated through the person he was leaning against. Was Derek the person he was against the whole time? He didn't have much time to think about it before he was scooped up in the werewolf's arms and pain was zapped through his body.

* * *

  
He could smell it. It was like water for a parched man who had been wandering about in the desert. He was that parched man. His mouth had gone dry, it was sore. His body didn't have any aches or pain in it as it did earlier. All he could think then was how much he would love to drink in that beautiful smell.

It was downstairs. Stiles slipped out the bed and moved quickly down the short stairs to the center of the loft. The group was there.

"Stiles, you're up," Scott came towards him, the smell strengthening. "How do you feel?"

How did he feel? He felt amazing. It was like someone gave him a superpower. "Great," He smiled, distracted by the lovely smell. "What's that smell?"

Scott gave him a question look, sending a glance back at the rest of the group. "What'd you mean?"

"Something smells really good..." He walked toward the smell more, finding it got stronger the more he came closer to the group.

"Morning, Stiles..." Jackson said, uneasiness and fear scavenging his body.

Stiles frowned, and stood before everyone. His eyes flickered across them and the scent hit him harder, causing throbbing in his teeth. How strange. Then he caught sight of it, a bandaid on Lydia's finger. It smelt so good he realized.

Before Stiles had even processed what he was doing, he had moved over to her at an impossible speed and bit down sharply on her neck, and sucked, earning a cry from her. Blood filled his mouth, tasting sweeter than anything he ever thought was possible. The liquid poured down his throat and fed his belly. Pleasure and thrill consuming him both. No later had that happened was he pulled back by a strong force. He hissed like some sort of creature. The blood had been so satisfying. So gleeful and now it was gone!

"Stiles!" Scott's voice pulled him out of the trace and he froze. What had he done?

"Lydia!" He caught sight of her, Deaton had taken her away, holding her neck. A terrified expression was written across her face. "Lydia, I'm so sorry! I couldn't help myself!"

"Stiles, calm down!" Scott told him.

His eyes darted to his friend nervously then to the people holding him, Derek and Jackson. The feeling was gone. The overpowering urge to drink. But a small part of him still wanted another sip. The smell of blood was still there though, coming in through his nostrils.

"Oh God." Stiles crippled to the floor, Derek and Jackson letting him fall. His hands went to his mouth, smearing the blood on his lips. His fingers felt the throbbing point on his teeth. Fangs. There were long piercing fangs in the place where his canine teeth were. He suddenly wanted to puke.

"I'm sick," He whispered. "I'm a monster." He wiped his bloody hands on the hem of his shirt. "Oh God, what have I become?" He looked up, his friend watched him in pity. "What happened to me?"

* * *

  
Stiles was laying in his bed staring up at the ceiling. Scott and Deaton had explained everything. What they had talked about earlier was happening to him. Stiles' was becoming a Lamia. His initial thought about that was how he would act from there forward. Would he be able to control himself? Would his condition worsen? How far would the urges go? He had no idea. This new form was different to everyone.

When he had talked with Scott, he learned a few things.

He would be faster and stronger than he was before. Faster than a werewolf, maybe even an alpha. He would be as strong as a werewolf, able to fight and move with equal strength.

The need to feed on blood would be constant and fluctuate depending on the situation.

His physical appearance would change some from his human form. He would develop longer canines and sharper teeth. His body wouldn't need to heat him as much, leaving him cold, but feeling normal. He wouldn't need to eat like a normal human either. Blood was his main source of food. His bones would toughen up a bit, making him less easy to break. He would heal quicker, like a werewolf, and his senses would be amplified. Unlike a werewolf, he wouldn't age. His body would stay the same and he would be immortal.

His emotions would be all over, drastic and unpredictable. They will eventually settle after the first couple weeks of adjustment then return to a new normal.

He wouldn't be able to touch vervain, or crosses. Holy symbols and the like were restricted and could be dangerous. Drinking blood would give him strength and darkness would be his natural state. He would feel more lenient on sleeping during the day and moving during the night. He would still be able to see himself in the mirror and be able to eat garlic. Sunlight and holy water would burn his skin. He wouldn't be able to die easily, as he had no heart beat now. The man had killed him, snapped his neck. The only real things that would kill him would be burning to death, whether that be in sunlight or a fire, a wooden stake to the heart, decapitated, having his heart removed, or shot in the heart with a sliver bullet. Other silvers may also slow him down, including his healing process.

He would have abilities. Powers, to make him a better hunter with his food. He would be able to compel humans into doing what he wanted, a kind of hypnotic state. He would be able to be more agile, faster, able to heal quicker, and be stronger (as said earlier).

All of this was in theory, of course. They had no idea what would actually happen and what he could do. There was little information about the Lamia, and the information they did have was a jumble of words and phrases they could only partly understand. Most of the information they found was written in broken Latin and the translations weren't the easiest to decipher. Then there was all the online crap about vampires and other hoaxes. None of it was really reassuring to Stiles at all. They didn't know what he was capable of or anything. And there was no cure. Deaton had confirmed that this morning.

He sighed and rolled onto his side. He was so hungry. He hadn't eaten anything since the incident this morning with Lydia. His mouth ached and his stomach grumbled for another drop of the red liquid. He shook the thoughts away, he wasn't suppose to be thinking like that. That was the thinking of a monster. He would not become a monster.  
Looking to the wall, he found the clock read 11:10 PM. He was so awake right then, not able to sleep at all. Slipping out from under the covers, he moved to the spiral stairs to the main floor of the loft. Upstairs was like the attic. It was full of boxes and unopened suitcases. The bed he was on wasn't exactly meant for a person, it was more like a pile of blankets on top of a thin layer of pillows. He could see the windows, no doubt in the day this place was flooded with sunlight.

Derek was sleeping on his bed when he got downstairs. Everyone else appeared to have gone home. He was quietly stepping over to the fridge when he got a whiff of Derek. It was almost overpowering. His scent was everywhere. It was delicious.

Stiles cursed at himself mentally, scolding the part of him that thought of Derek's blood as a nice snack. He was going to the fridge for a nice snack, not to Derek's neck. Opening the door of the fridge, he found it to be nearly empty. He groaned in disappointment. He was really hoping for something good, though he had no idea what would compare to the taste of Lydia's blood. After grabbing a cheese stick, Stiles closed the fridge and sat down at the barstool, peeling the package open.

A second later he heard bed sheets being tossed about and Derek was standing beside him. Stiles didn't look up, refusing to meet the werewolf's eyes. "You have a different scent," Derek said after a few seconds.

Stiles swallowed a bite of his cheese, resisting the urge to focus on his senses, which wanted to gouge out Derek's artery. Stiles just nodded, not trusting his voice or himself to even speak.

He could still feel Derek's gaze pressed at him, "What's it like being a Lamia, then?"

Stiles looked up then, which was a bad decision on his part. The cheese fell out of his hand, dropping on the counter. His eyes went straight to Derek's neck. The beating of the werewolf's heart was clear in his head, focusing on the pumping blood coursing through his veins and arteries. He immediately cleared his throat and looked away, pushing away the urges.

"Terrible," He looked down, picking at the cheese. "I can't even look at you without wanting to suck you dry," He laughed a little bit, not earning a reaction from the wolf, "God, that sounded so wrong." He pursed his lips and got serious again. "My teeth are so sore. They won't stop aching," He put his fingers to his fangs, feeling the teeth. "And I'm so hungry," He shook his head, not knowing what else to say.

"Scott stopped by," Derek said, walking over to an ice chest and pulling open, perfectly calm and casual, "His mom got a hold of some blood bags from the hospital." He pulled out two and closed the lid. Stiles' eyes followed the red bags in Derek's hand until they were set on the counter, "Go ahead."

As soon as Derek had said that, Stiles had one of the bags to his lips, teeth penetrating the plastic and he began to suck. His eyes darkened, turning a dark red, almost black and bloodlust overcame him. Mouthful after mouthful he drained the bag empty in nearly half a minute. When the first one was finished, he reached for the second with vampire speed, bringing that one to his lips and repeating the process. All the while, Derek watched almost hypnotized, his eyes glued to Stiles' lips and fangs. When the second bag was done, Stiles dropped it on the counter. His eyes softened then returned to their normal color and his head became clearer; more focused.

"Better?" Derek asked, breaking his own gaze at Stiles and moved to throw away the bags.

Stiles nodded, his eyes closing. Then he caught a scent of something. It was strange, smelling an emotion. He looked at Derek, smelling the uneasiness and excitement rolling off him in waves. It was confusing, he wasn't used to this, being able to smell things clearly and identify emotions off the smells.

"You okay?" Derek asked, looking at him strangely, coming back to the counter, standing across from Stiles.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah..." He cast his eyes down at the counter, picking the cheese back up. He sniffed the air, smelling the dairy product and getting whiffs of other scents. He didn't feel all that hungry anymore, so he moved over to the garbage can and disposed of the stick. Derek, again watching him, didn't move from his spot. "Am I under house arrest?" His back was turned to the werewolf.

"You're not allowed to leave unless you're with one of the pack members."

Stiles nodded, "Understandable." He swallowed, licking his lips, clearing them off any excess blood. The hunger was already starting to come back.

"I set up an area for you to sleep," Derek said, moving around the kitchen. "It's the only spot I could find that didn't have sunlight during the day. It's behind the stairs." He walked over to the spiral stairs. The loft was already a very open place, Derek's bed was on the main floor by the wall of windows. The base of the stairs started just after they ended on the right side, leaving the perfect spot behind them shaded from the daylight. "I put one of the spare mattresses over there."

Stiles nodded. He didn't know how long he would be staying, but he figured a while if Derek had set up a sleeping area for him. "Thanks," He moved past the werewolf and flopped down on the cushioned rectangle.

Derek pursed his lips before moving to grab a magazine off the coffee table and spreading out in the couch. Stiles could see him through the stairs, he could see the whole loft except upstairs.

* * *

  
Stiles had faded in and out of sleep for a while, watching Derek and not watching him. Eventually the werewolf fell asleep, dropping the magazine in his chest and letting his hands fall. Stiles watched, wondering if he was that far in. He spaced out for a little bit, thinking about what his father's reaction might have been, or what school would be like tomorrow if he were to go. None of that seemed to matter anymore, he had all the time in the world.

Suddenly he smelt fear, his eyes darted to Derek. He was sleeping. Was the fear coming from him? His suspicions were confirmed when the werewolf started to whimper and whisper under his breath. Stiles wasn't sure what to do, should he go wake him up? Could that be dangerous? Before he thought anymore on the subject, Derek was yelling.

"Run!" His body was covered in sweat, Stiles could smell it, that and the fear coursing through his body. "Laura!"

Stiles didn't think. He moved, running quickly over to the sleeping Derek. He grabbed his hand and put the other one to his forehead, running it down his temple and cheek. "It's alright," He whispered, softly. The twitches and whimpers eased away as his breathing calmed. "It's okay, Derek." The wolf shook, no longer yelling out or physically moving too much. The strong smell of fear now was replaced with comfort and his usual mood. "It's gonna be fi-"

The wolf's eyes snapped open, glowing bright red in the darkness, and Derek's hand closed around his wrist, holding Stiles' hand that held his face.

"Stiles." It wasn't a question, Derek knew it was him.

He swallowed, wondering how the wolf would take it. Derek looked down at the hand Stiles had held, his eyes dimmed and returned to normal, before he removed his hand from Stiles'. The Lamia pulled back slightly as Derek released him, backing away still on his knees.

"You... uh... You were having a nightmare..." Stiles tried to explain.

Derek grunted as he sat up, pulling himself into a seating position, "What time is it?"

"What? Huh? Time?" Stiles looked around for a clock. "Uh... I don't-" he spotted one on the far wall. "Oh, it's 1:17." Derek rubbed his face, running his hand through his hair. "So uh, what-"

"You talk far too much."

Stiles shut his mouth. He watched as Derek got up, moving to the kitchen. He realized then how hungry he was. He followed Derek and went to the cooler. Upon opening it, he found it half full with blood bags. He picked out two and closed the lid then made his way to the counter, and sat on the barstool. Derek moved to the pantry and grabbed a package of tea. Then he moved to the kettle and started up the process of making tea. Stiles watched for a while before looking down at his blood packets and bringing one to his mouth.

Again, his eyes darkened, his fangs pierced the bag, and blood rushed down his throat. The cool liquid sent him into a frenzy, wanting more and more after each mouthful. It was so sweet, so amazing. He hummed a little in pleasure before moving to the next blood bag, not looking at Derek. He was far lost in his own bloodlust he momentarily forgot about the wolf watching him. When the second bag was sucked dry, he pulled back, his eyes still dark with need. He needed more. Not thinking, straight, he heard the blood pumping around in Derek's body. It was like a pull. He moved quickly to the wolf, pressing him against the counter.

"Stiles!"

He could smell the fear peeling off the alpha in waves. He smiled, his eyes darkened and his vision different from its normal state. "You know what I want to do?" He asked, running his hand over the wolf's jugular.

Derek swallowed hard, "Stiles, you need to get in control." He tried to move from the Lamia's grip, but found he couldn't. He was pinned.

"I am in control," Stiles hissed, leaning in and smelling the wolf's neck. He closed his dark eyes. "You smell like fear and excitement." He ran his nose up the wolf's jawline to his ear, Derek pulled back a little at the action. "Do you know what that does to me?" He whispered in the alpha's ear, his voice husky, "It drives me crazy."

Stiles ran his tongue over Derek's neck, above his main artery. The wolf shuddered and half-heartedly tried to move away, but as before Stiles held him still, placing a hand on either of the wolf's hips. His own hips moved to press firmly against Derek's. This new stance made Derek's dick twitch slightly but Stiles didn't seem to notice, too wrapped up in the blood flowing through him. His fangs skimmed the skin at in his neck, teasing the wolf. A sudden growl from Derek made Stiles hesitant. It only lasted a second before Stiles rubbed his nose in the nape of his neck, rubbing his scent off on the wolf. Derek growled again, warning.

The Lamia smirked and within a flash, bit into the flesh on the wolf's neck. Derek cried out, a sudden burst of pleasure and pain hitting him at once. His body arched into Stiles' as he drew blood. The blood tasted so good, so fresh. He couldn't seem to stop. Stiles sucked him, swallowing a few mouthfulls of blood before reality came crashing down.

He pulled away, taking a few steps back until he hit the island. Derek's glowing red eyes were watching him, his hand on his neck where Stiles had bit him. The bloodlust left Stiles and his eyes returned to normal. He tried to ignore the fact that they both had very prominent boners. Derek was still giving him a death glare when Stiles eyes began to fill with tears, and all the arousal was gone.

"Oh shit," Stiles' hands went to his mouth, covering his lips and wiping away the blood. "What have I done?" Derek took a step forward, his mouth open to say something but Stiles moved around the counter away from him. "No, no, no, I'm sorry." The tears spelt over as images of what had happened came through. "Derek, oh god, Derek, I... I..." He didn't know what to say.

"Stiles, it's fine, you just need to work on self control and-"

"No!" Stiles yelled, his hands on his head. "No, this is not okay!" He looked up at the wolf painfully. "Fuck, this is far from okay." Derek came over to him, releasing the wound on his neck, which was now healing.

"Stiles, you need to calm down."

"Calm down?!" He yelled, moving away from the wolf more. "I just fuckin' fed off of you! People don't just do that! Why didn't you push me off?!"

"I tried to..." He trailed off. "It's not your fault."

"Like hell it is!" Stiles screamed. "I'm the monster! I drink people's blood as a way of survival! What I do is always my fault! It always will be! I'm the predator!"

"I get it, okay?" Derek told him.

"You get it? You get it?" He spun in a circle, his hands on his head. "No, Derek, you don't get it! You don't know what it's like to think about the future. The future where I watch my friends die. The future where life just goes on and on. The future where I kill people, and enjoy it!" He scoffed. "No, I don't think you do get it, Derek."

"You're wrong," Derek growled. "I do. I do understand because I've lived it. I've watched my friends and family die before me. I've been there where everyone else's life is gone and I have to keep living. I know what it's like to kill people. I know what it's like to take their life and shred their future and enjoy the fact that they suffer. I know the guilt. I know, Stiles, because I've done it."

They were quiet for a moment. Stiles wiped his nose and dried his fallen tears. "I'm sorry," He apologized. Derek just nodded, silently accepting the peace offering. Stiles took in a deep breath. "I'll just..." He pointed to the stairs.

"Yeah."

He pursed his lips, and made his way over to his new 'room'. He fell down on the mattress and curled up, wishing for sleep to take him and the day would end.

* * *

  
Stiles slept all through the day and awoke the next night at dusk. Scott and Derek were in the kitchen talking when his eyes finally opened.

"... all fine...." He heard Derek say. "It was only that one time."

Scott nodded, "Sure."

"He just needs self control. That's all it is," Derek argued.

"Are you sure you can handle him?" Stiles sensed Derek nodded due to the fact that there was no reply. "Alright." Stiles could now see them as they walked into his line of view and they stood at the door. "I'll be back in the morning to make sure he hasn't eaten you."

Derek just gave a bow of his head and opened the door, letting Scott out. As soon as the door closed, Stiles realized Derek had his eyes closed and was leaning against the wall. He wanted to ask how he was, but before he could do so, Derek spoke; "I'm guessing you heard all that?"

Stiles hesitated, unsure how to act right then, "Uh, yeah, I did."

Derek's lips pursed and his eyes met Stiles, "You need to learn control."

"It's not as easy as you think it is, Derek," Stiles told him, feeling slightly irritated. "I can't just be in control-"

"I know," He said. "Which is why I have to train you to be in control."

"Is that possible?"

Derek nodded, then walked towards the kitchen area. Stiles stood, following the werewolf. Derek opened the top of the cooler and pulled out three blood bags. Stiles froze, not liking where he was going with this.

"Stay," Derek told him as he grabbed a cup from the cabinet. Then he cut one of the bags with his claw. The scent of blood was nearly intoxicating for Stiles as it hit him with full force, yet forced himself to stay put. "Very good," Derek murmured in approval as he drained the blood bag into the mug.

Stiles swallowed thickly, his eyes starting to darken. "Derek," He warned.

The werewolf ignored him and threw the plastic bag away. Then he picked up the cup and sat down at one of the barstools, and finally turned to face Stiles. He tried to keep his eyes from darkening into bloodlust but it was growing harder every second. He could feel his fangs already fully out and he could hear the blood pumping in Derek's neck.

"Control Stiles," He advised. "Force the bloodlust back."

Stiles shook his head, not able to do as he was asked. "I- I can't-" The urge took hold and he was suddenly standing in front of Derek. No fear was rolling off him this time. Only... excitement and something strange. Was it hope? "Why aren't you scared?" Stiles whispered.

Derek looked up at him, his hand still on the mug. "Because I know you won't hurt me."

Stiles closed his eyes. "You don't know that. Last time-"

"Last time it was just me," He interjected. Then he moved the mug and in that small action Stiles was looking at the pool of blood in the cup. The red liquid shadowed by the rim. "Now come back to me, Stiles."

He shut his eyes tightly, trying to make the bloodlust go. Yet, he could still feel the darkness in his eyes and hear the beating of Derek's heart not a few feet from him. Then, he couldn't focus. Derek's heart beat. The heart that pumped blood. The most delicious blood he had ever tasted. He wanted more in that moment, not aware of what he wanted was exactly what he didn't want. He let the darkness in.

"Stiles," Derek growled, noticing the change.

His eyes shot open, fully dark. Then he had Derek up against the counter with the cup to blood forgotten. Derek's pulse was vibrating in his mind, pulling him forward. He tried to move, tried to struggle against the Lamia, but it was useless. Stiles had Derek clamped by the wrists with his own hands and his body was pressed against him, pushing him back into the hard surface.

"Stiles, this isn't you," Derek said. Stiles recognised it then. There was the fear that he had questioned about earlier. The excitement and hope still there, but the fear just as strong as the other emotions. "Just take the cup and get in control."

Stiles pressed his cheek to Derek's, whispering in his ear, "I am in control." A shiver went down Derek's body and he was suddenly turned on. "But you seem to be enjoying this..."

"Stiles, stop," Derek said, shutting his own eyes.

He gave a small laugh, smiling at the control the werewolf was fighting with. "Why?" He asked, then ran his tongue down to Derek's jugular. "We both are pleasured from this." He licked around the pulsing neck and froze as Derek's emotion in fear amplified.

"Stop."

"I can't do that, Derek," He told him darkly. "It's too much."

"No, it's not." He growled, fear suddenly gone. "Fight it!"

"I don't want to," He whispered, his hand loosening on Derek's hold a little. "It feels... It feels so good..."

He opened his mouth, ready to plunge his fangs into Derek's neck when a burning pain hit his stomach. He faltered back, leaning over slightly, but the action was enough for Derek to escape out of his grasp. His head shot up in confusion and he saw what Derek held. A silver cross in front of him, directed at Stiles. Stiles lifted his shirt, seeing a burnt cross mark on his flesh.

"Control Stiles," Derek instructed. "Force it back."

Stiles was mad now, not liking the idea of betrayal, which was slightly ironic given the situation. "I'm so hungry," He whined, his eyes still focused on Derek's pulse point.  
"You're not eating until you learn to control your appetite," Derek hissed.

Stiles shrunk back a little, being so used to doing so since his human years. Stiles realized his reflexive action. Human. He used to be human. He was monster now. He needed to stop being a monster now. Slowly, he told the hungry part of him to go away. He felt his eyes go first, changing back to their original color. Then his teeth, the fangs retracting slightly but never all the way.

"There you go. Progress," Derek praised, then picked up the cup.

Stiles' eyes went straight to it and started darkening again.

"And one step back."

Stiles closed his eyes, forcing the monster back.

"Good." When his eyes opened again, they were normal. "Very good, Stiles. Control is possible." The boy didn't say anything. "Eat," Derek told him, pushing the cup into the Lamia's hands and walking towards the couch. Stiles just stood there with the cup, not moving and still looking straight ahead. "Try not to shift when you do!"

Stiles nodded dimly and then looked down at the red liquid, which made his teeth burn in hunger. He brought the mug to his lips, his eyes flashing a little, and then him pulling away. Half the cup drained with little shift. That was good. He let the blood settle in his stomach before breathing in a few calming breaths.

"Control." He whispered to himself, bringing the mug to his lips once more and downing the rest of the drink his eyes only flashing briefly this time. He sighed, placing the cup on the counter and opening the other blood bag.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uhhh stuff happens. That's too vague, isn't it? Stiles has feelings and works on control. Oh mental breakdowns are always in style.

"He's out cold," Derek told Scott as they stood in front of Stiles' bed. "As soon as the sun starts to come out, he's down."

Scott nodded, "Yeah, I've been reading up some more on Lamia. For the most part they stay sleeping during the day, unless they're in immediate danger or they find a way to work around their body's natural clock."

"Yeah."

"Okay, well I'll be back tomorrow." Derek nodded as Scott headed for the door. "His dad wants to see him,” he said, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "I can't let him be around anyone until he's under control."

"He was better last night, but he has a long ways to go," Derek said, looking over at the sleeping figure under the stairs.

"I hope he's in control soon. I can't keep telling his teachers he is sick, they'll suspect something."

Derek nodded, looking tired.

"Get some rest, Derek. And... thank you for... for letting him stay here. It's a huge help." When Derek didn't reply, Scott swung the door open. "See you!" He called over his shoulder, leaving the loft.

* * *

 

Stiles watched as a sleeping Derek was sprawled out on the bed by the windows. The sun had just gone down and the streetlights were filtering in with the moon's powerful gaze. Though he figured the reason he could see so well was because of his new enhancement on eyesight that basically gave him nightvision. It was hard to not think that was cool. Despite being a total blood sucking monster, he was stronger than his werewolf friends at times, which made him feel more secure. Yet at the same time, he didn't want it. He could easily hurt his friends and the other pack member now.

The pack. Was he part of the pack? Had he always been part of the pack? Would it be him, Scott, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, Lydia, Jackson, and Derek all as a pack? They never talked about being a pack, but whenever there was a meeting of some kind, he was there- or he just showed up. Would he be more or less accepted now as a Lamia?

Stiles' stomach growled and his teeth ached, causing his thinking to come to a halt. He was so hungry. Then he remembered what Derek had taught him; he needed to push back the monster, the hunger and fear without going crazy.

Stiles pulled himself up, not wanting to jump around with his new speed yet. It snuck up on him sometimes and later he would wonder how he moved from one spot to the next so quickly. Walking at normal speed, he came into the kitchen and flipped open the lid of the cooler. It was still mildly half full, not changing much since he'd seen it last. Then again, why would it? Grabbing three bags, he closed the top and threw the packages on the table, and then sat down at a barstool. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the area around him; the smell of blood, Derek's steady beating heart, and the feeling of hunger in his body.

When he was ready, he reopened his eyes and chose a bag. Not needing a pair of scissors, Stiles sunk his teeth into the plastic, blood filling his senses. Everything around him drowned out and he felt his eyes turning dark. His teeth ached with need, and he sucked the liquid quick. Mouthful after mouthful, his eyes dark and his eyes finally closing in contentment.

As he pulled back from the empty bag, eyes still holding their form, he realized he had lost control. Stiles pushed back the urge and the feeling in his body. He reached for the next bag, his mind and eyes clear. His fingers trembled slightly as the plastic met his lips, not in total control. He needed more. More than just a bag.

He opened his mouth, positioning the bag and then biting sharply into it. It was pierced on contact and instantly gave him a flow of blood. Again, he senses were flooded with pleasure and he relished in the feeling, but before his eyes could darken, he pushed it back and controlled himself. When that bag was downed, he eagerly picked up the next, repeating the process.

Finishing off the remaining drops of blood on his lips, Stiles moved to the trash can, dropping the empty blood bags inside. He felt much better, his stomach now being filled. He glanced over at Derek, still hearing the steady beating of the werewolf's heart. How had he not awoken at Stiles' movements? It was odd.

Stiles pulled out his phone as he plopped himself down in the couch, Derek's smell immediately engulfed him. The werewolf laid there a lot, he could tell. Opening up his text message threads, he found that he had a few new messages.

**Dad**

**Tuesday 10/9/15 2:38 p.m.**

**_Scott explained everything to me. We need to talk. Call me when u can. I miss u, be safe._ **

**Thursday 10/11/15 4:27 p.m.**

**_I had to explain to ur teachers today that ur home w/ the flu._ **

**_It was Scott's idea. I'm not sure how I feel about lying to them but then again we can't really tell the truth..._ **

**7:07 p.m.**

**One missed call from Dad. One new voicemail.**

**_Call me_ **

 

**Lydia**

**Tuesday 10/9/15 9:11 p.m.**

**_i dont mind that u bit me u just scared the shit out of me ^_^_ **

**_i saw ur face after u did and i knew u never meant to hurt me. i forgive u_ **

**_Hey but its pretty cool that ur a vampire now XD u got a lot of new awesome skillz_ **

**Wednesday 10/10/15 1:23 p.m.**

**_i knew realized how much u meant to the group. Jackson is the only one making jokes and we all miss u :'(_ **

 

**Danny**

**Tuesday 10/9/15  2:56 p.m.**

**_U alright? U weren't at lacrosse practice and Scott's been quiet :/_ **

**Wednesday 10/10/15 6:21 a.m.**

**_R u going to be at school today? Our lab write up is due today_ **

**_Scott says u have the flu :( how r u feelin?_ **

**6:34 p.m.**

**_Hope u feel better, missed u at practice today :(_ **

**_Coach had us running laps, u missed nothin special_ **

**Thursday 10/11/15 8:46 p.m.**

**_U there?_ **

**_Call me when ur feeling better_ **

 

Stiles dialed his voicemail and brought the phone to his ear. " _You have one new message. First unheard message from_ Dad _on Thursday, October eleventh at 7:07 p.m., 'Hey Stiles, how are you feeling? I just wanted to call and, uh, make sure you were, uh um, adjusting... fine. Scott tells me I can see you after you're in more control. Looking forward to then. See you.' End of message. To repeat this message press one. To save it in the archives press two. To delete this message press thr-_ " Stiles jammed the button, irritated. " _Message deleted. You have no new messages._ "

Stiles ended the call and sighed, placing his phone on his lap. He didn't really feel like talking with anyone at the moment.

He rolled onto his side and tucked his hands under his cheek, closing his eyes. He tried not to think about what was around him. He needed to just focus on his own breathing. He took a deep breath in, letting the air clear his mind. Then he exhaled, pushing out his breath between his lips. They whistled slightly, but he continued his breathing exercise. He took in a breath, he released it. He took in one, he held and let go. The more he did this, the more relaxed he felt. His mind didn't wander anywhere and he remained solely on inhaling and exhaling.

In fact, he didn't even take notice when Derek woke and the werewolf stood, watching him. Maybe a part of him acknowledged the other boy, with his new senses no doubt, but refused to make a big deal out of it. This went on for a few minutes before Derek moved, knowing the boy was fully conscious while doing this exercise. He walked to the kitchen and picked an apple from the basket there, care in his movements to not disturb the Lamia. Derek sat across from him, comfortable watching him as he slowly ate his fruit. If the boy took notice of the werewolf, he certainly didn't show it.

When Derek was done with his apple, he disposed of it and returned to sitting across from Stiles. Then he pulled out a book and read. A few more minutes went by before Stiles' eyes opened, instantly focusing on Derek, who ignored him. He slowly sat up and adjusted in his seat.

"Good job working on control," Derek commented, not looking at him.

"Oh, it was actually something else," Stiles corrected. "It helps me stay calm because of my panic attacks and-"

"It's still a form of control."

He nodded mutely, looking down at his hands. His Lamia senses were coming back to him and he could clearly hear Derek's steady heart beat. He closed his eyes again, slightly savoring the sound before trying to block it out. He focused on his breathing, like he was doing previously, but all he could think about was the blood pumping through Derek at that very minute. He exhaled slightly in a groan and it caught Derek's attention. Stiles' eyes fluttered open, darkening, dazed a little. He looked at Derek, his pupils dilating as he saw his jugular. His breathing was increasing as he did so.

"Stiles, breathe," Derek instructed.

He tried, oh how he tried. Every breath he took, he could smell Derek and his blood. His scent nearly felt drunk. He shuddered slightly as his mouth began to ache. His eyes weren't even darkened halfway, yet he could feel it taking him over. He fought against it. He did. He really did.

"I am," he whispered, his voice raspy. "You smell so good."

He pursed his lips and shut his eyes tight, willing away them away. His hands fisted themselves, holding the hem of his own shirt, and he swallowed deeply as he felt his toes curling. The feelings retracted and his body's once tense form relaxed, starting with his shoulders and jaw.

"Good," Derek said, still unsure. Though Stiles could still smell him, he bit his lip to keep from letting the urges come. "What have you eaten?"

Stiles inhaled deeply and sat up straight, then ran his fingers through his short hair. "Uh, three bags this morn- er..." He glanced at the windows, seeing the night and found the clock read a quarter after one. "Night, I guess."

"How was your control then?"

"I lost it on the first, but it got better with the other ones," he said, swallowing. He still fought the ache in his mouth. "Will the need always be there?" he whispered, feeling his jaw.

"We don't know," Derek told him truthfully. "Deaton...-" He trailed off. "We aren't sure of anything."

Stiles nodded, understanding, "So I heard you talking with Scott this morning and my dad called-"

"You can't see him."

"Yeah, I know, but-"

"Stiles," Derek shot him a look. "You are not in control. Until you can control your bloodlust, you aren't seeing anyone."

"Except for you,” Stiles grumbled, earning a pointed look from Derek. "Fine, whatever." It was quiet for a few seconds. "So..." Stiles said, expectantly. "What do you do for fun around here? Do you have a tv or something?"

Derek glared at him.

"Or not, I could learn to live the life of the Great Sourwolf. You know me, I love to just sit around and read these-" he picked up a book from the coffee table and tossed it back down, "-novels all day long with my homie-"

"Shut up."

Stiles sighed and leaned back, his hands behind his head. "Whatever you say, party pooper."

He looked around and grimaced, "You know what? I tried your way. Your way sucks."

"It's been five seconds."

He ignored Derek's bitter mood and continued; "I'm gonna try out my new Lamia skills," he stood, pointing his finger at the werewolf then he began to stretch, "or whatever."

"Stiles, sit down."

Stiles looked at him, wrinkling his nose, "Nah." He smiled at the dispirited guy before using his super speed to disappear up the spiral stairs.

"Stiles!" Derek yelled, eyes wide in panic. He stood, moving to the metal staircase. "Knock it off!"

He just snickered then ran down them, and stopped behind Derek. "Why? It's so much fun?" The werewolf spun around, but not in time because Stiles was gone again. He growled in disapproval. "Oh, come on, don't be such a rule stickler!" said Stiles from his sitting place on the counter top.

"I'm not a rule stickler."

"You have self conscious rules, don't you?" Stiles countered. When Derek gave no reply, he raised an eyebrow. "And you obviously don't like to break them." Derek just glared, so he continued. "Doesn't that make you a rule stickler?"

He knew Derek was mad at him, so clearly aggravated. Before anything else was said though, Stiles moved again. Derek growled loudly, showing his annoyance for the Lamia. "Come on, won't you play my game?" Stiles questioned.

This time Derek wasn't sure where he was as he spun on spot trying to find the source. "I won't play your game," he went back over to the sitting area and took Stiles' previous seat.

"Please?" Stiles whined, moving around again. Derek ignored him, remaining indolent, as he picked up his book. "Ugh," Stiles sighed loudly, "you're no fun."

He rolled his eyes at the younger boy's comment as Stiles finally returned to the seat across from him in docile. "Get used to it."

Stiles sent him a glare of his own. The small action backfired on him and his gaze locked onto the unaware werewolf's neck. His mouth immediately seemed to ache and his fangs were out before he realized it. He didn't let his eyes darken though; he was in full control. He just watched Derek, whom paid him no heed as his attention set on the read material in his hands.

As he observed Derek, he noticed things about him that he hadn't thought of before. Things like the attractive structure of his face with his complementing stubble and the long bridge of his nose. His dark hair and serious look added to his allure, luring Stiles in. His thin line of lips looked so kissable in that moment, but Stiles shut out the thought as soon as it came.

Moving his sight down, his attention was caught by Derek's strong arms and muscles because he wasn't wearing his usual leather jacket. With his current shirt, Stiles could see his defined pecs and the silver cross that lay slightly off center on his chest. A part of him was still caught up on the memory of the burn which was now healed. But as did a complete overview of Derek, all thoughts of the cross were vanished and he realized just how attractive the man was.

His pants were suddenly a little tight and Stiles' face heated up as his mind registered what he'd been doing.

Derek flipped the page, still disregarded him. He let his eyes find Derek's neck again, listening to the pulse hum for a bit. All he wanted to do right then was push Derek down on the couch and breathe him in. He didn't need his blood, or any sexual contact with the guy, just his scent.

His body was working before his brain though, because one second he was sitting fantasizing about Derek, then the next he had pinned the alpha down on the couch, acting on the fantasy. Stiles had Derek held by the wrists above his head and had leaned in, letting his nose nuzzle in the nook of the werewolf's neck. His own hips were resting on Derek's, straddling him effectively and keeping him down. The book had been tossed aside, not cared for in the adjustment of the two.

"Stiles!" he rebuffed Derek's outcry and continued to rub his nose and cheek against the man's neck. As he took a breath in, Stiles smiled, loving the smell of him. "Get in control."

Stiles pulled back at that, showing his perfectly clear eyes. This action, however, made Derek scowl and a growl surfaced in his throat, "Get off."

"I don't think I will," remarked Stiles, smirking at the figure below him. "I'm enjoying this quite a lot."

"Well I'm not," hissed Derek, "so get off me."

"What are you going to do about it?" Stiles whispered, taunting the wolf.

Derek didn't say anything, but he moved before Stiles could reaction. His hips jerked forward, moving Stiles over slightly sideways and Derek brought his knees up, escaping from the straddling position. This movement made Stiles release his grip on Derek's wrists and the werewolf rolled off the couch and onto the floor before he was up on his feet again with Stiles left on the couch.

"You may be a little stronger, but I'm more experienced."

Stiles stood, trying resist the urge to tell Derek how hot he found him to be just then. "Teach me, then."

"When you learn control."

He scoffed. "I am in control! I can- what are you doing?" Stiles' eyes widened as Derek used his claw to cut his inner wrist.

"Prove it." Derek said, taking a step towards Stiles, whom didn't move. "Show me that you know what you're doing."

Stiles felt his eyes try to darken, but he swallowed deeply and pushed all the uncontrollable urges back. The beating of Derek’s heart was pounding in his ears, teasing him and making his fangs grow out. His eyes were glued on the blood line made by Derek, the wound now healed.

"Don't you want to see your dad?" Derek pushed, "You can't do that until you learn to dominate your bloodlust."

Bloodlust. Stiles' eyes flickered to Derek's face. Was it all bloodlust? Why was it that he wanted more than Derek's blood though? He wanted to smell like Derek and he wanted Derek to smell like him. What did that mean?

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispered. He just wanted Derek to smell like him, he realized. The statement itself felt weird to Stiles. What was making him feel these things? Why was he feeling these things towards Derek? He needed to leave. He couldn't be around Derek. He wanted to go home, or at least get out of the loft.

Stiles used his Lamia speed to run to the door, only to find it locked. Tearing off the doorknob, lock and all, he left the building within seconds. He wasn't sure what Derek was doing, would he let him go? Probably not. Could he track Stiles' scent?

Stiles continued to run, even after exiting the area. It surprised him how fast he could go, as he was already outside his own home and he could hear his dad sleeping upstairs. He knew he wasn't ready to face him, he could find himself to. He listened a few more seconds before flashing away quickly in another direction. Would he leave Beacon Hills? He had no idea. What he did know is he liked to run.

* * *

 

Derek was in front of his door, holding the knob in one hand and his phone in the other. He had Scott on the line as soon as Stiles had left, knowing that the Lamia's speed was much quicker than his own.

" _He tore the door knob off?_ " Scott asked in disbelief. " _Can you get a scent on him?_ "

"You know as well as , that his scent is much different from how it used to be," Derek told him, slamming the door shut and walking back over to the sitting area. "His Lamia abilities allow him to hide his own scent." He placed the doorknob on the coffee table and sat back on the couch.

" _I'm going to go check on his dad,_ " Scott said. " _Can you notify the other pack members?_ "

"Sure."

With that the call ended and he dialed up another number.

* * *

 

Stiles was at the old Hale house, or really what was left of it. He wasn't sure why he was there. He had left Derek for more Derek. Walking up the porch area, he could see the burns and blackened charred in places.

There was a bright red door though. He recalled Derek painting.

He could smell so many things too. The fire damage was the strongest smell, and it felt like someone shoving a charcoal covered cloth in his face.

Covering his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, Stiles pushed the door open, and stepped inside the rundown place. He could see the fire took all of the upstairs, the staircase showing where the flames didn't do indestructible damage.

He'd been here before, like the time Scott was wanting a tattoo. It looked the same, but he noticed everything now. He saw the sadness in it all and he felt like he could even smell the fire as if he was there when it happened. He could see how it would be hard for Derek to rebuild on his own, and it wasn't as if he could just hire a few guys to help with something so personal.

And God, he could smell a wavering scent of burnt flesh. It was horrible. It was horrific, what happened here. Stiles imagined their screams of terror as they were locked down in the basement. He could imagine the helpless feeling of knowing death was coming. He could imagine the pain Derek felt as his family was murdered in a brutal way and he lived on without them. Stiles knew the pain of losing his mother, but his whole family? What did that do to someone?

He realised then he was overthinking things and it was leading him straight into a panic attack. Yet he couldn't calm down, not while he was in this dreadful place. The place where an entire pack of werewolves were turned to dust like it meant nothing. Tears ran down his face and tried to take a few steps forward, but found himself crippling to the ground against a wall.

If he had a beating heart now, he knew that it would be racing.

He was entirely aware of the panic that was consuming him yet had no way to control it. Was this the Lamia part of him? The part where his emotions are ballistic? God, he hated it. He hate being a vampire. It sucked, no pun intended. He didn't even have the happiness in him to smile over that pun. It was plain out fucked up for him to be a vampire. A fucking vampire. Who knew it would be such a curse?

It made him angry, thinking about all the shit he'd been through. His hand fisted and his jaw clenched, tears still slowly coming out. He hated it when he cried. He wiped the tears away, willing his body to stop with the pathetic crying. He was shaking, just sitting there with his back to the wall. All his thoughts were on overdrive, giving him a headache.

He just sat and trembled, as he thought of the werewolves who died in this place and how much he fucking hated being a Lamia. Christ, he even hated the name. Who came up with the name Lamia? He was vampire, damn it! Changing the word doesn't change anything. It was still as scary as hell, Latin be damned.

* * *

 

Derek was looking for Stiles, along with the other members of the pack. Scott had called in a while back saying the sheriff was okay and he caught a small bit on his scent. Derek doubted the scent would lead him anywhere though, Stiles didn't stop anywhere long enough to actually leave a scent. He must have stood in front of the house, which gave Scott a lead.

Where would Stiles even go? Would he leave town? He wouldn't leave his dad, would he? That'd be a pretty jackass move, even in Derek's book. He moved into the forest, maybe Stiles liked the nature of it all. Perhaps he knew he couldn't be around other people now.

What if he was at the Hale house?

The thought made Derek go still. Was it possible? Would Stiles think to go there? That was a stupid question, Stiles wasn't thinking at all now, not as he was running loose.

* * *

 

Stiles was overthinking, his mind still on overdrive, when he heard a twig snap. It was really multiple and they got closer and closer, someone was running towards the house. Oh God, what if it was hunters? What if they knew he was here? He relaxed slightly after panicking because the thought that they might kill him gave him reassurance. If he was dead, he wouldn't hurt anyone else.

His imagination and anxiety mixed though and he was back into his panic attack. They could burn him alive, like they did with the Hale pack.

The sounds stopped. He could hear the beating heart outside the door, no doubt they could hear him. He closed his eyes. Oh God, he was going to die. They were going to string him up and cut out his organs and make him feel the pain. Maybe they would just let him bleed out slowly and keep cutting him open so he could heal. He shivered at the thought, but kept his eyes shut.

His brain didn't register the scent of Derek.

The door opened, and more tears escaped Stiles. He whimpered slightly, wondering what other ways of pain they could inflict on him before letting his body die. Footsteps were heard and he knew they were standing in front of him.

His brain didn't register the scent of Derek.

A second later arms were around him. He was so confused. Were they going to kill him with poison and inject him in the neck like he saw in the movies? The body was firm and the person lifted him onto their lap. It was comfortable. It was warm. He suddenly felt safe.

And his brain registered the scent of Derek.

"Derek," he sobbed into the werewolf's shirt, pulling his closer with the material. "Oh, God."

"It's alright," his voice was gruff, but comforted Stiles all the same. "Calm down, Stiles."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I-"

"It's okay, Stiles."

He shook his head. "No, no it's not," he whispered into Derek's neck, nuzzling him. "They burned," he whispered. Derek went ridged, but he kept talking. "It was horrific. I can smell the fire.... I can smell them." He let more tears fall.

"You're imagining it. Their scents are all long gone. I can't even-"

"Well I can," Stiles snapped, sadness and panic still there. His voice was raw and pained. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry." He repeated over and over again.

Derek just held him, pulling in the Lamia like any other of his pups. He comforted and he hushed, letting the boy cry. It wasn't long until his sobs quieted to whimpering. They stayed still like that for awhile, not saying anything more. The physical warmth was enough comfort and supplied both them with contentment.

Then Derek's phone was ringing, startled them both and Stiles shifted off Derek's lap awkwardly. Derek didn't seem to mind, or at the very least didn't pay any attention to it. He quickly snatched his phone out of his pocket and answered the call. He noted the time of three o'clock as his phone was on.

" _No luck here_ ," Scott voice came in, " _Have you found anything yet?_ "

Derek looked to Stiles, who had obviously heard what was being said over the phone. "Yes," he told Scott, still looking at the teen. "He-"

" _What? When, why didn't you call me sooner?_ "

"We'll meet you at my loft," Derek said, not answering the other questions. He dismissed the call and shoved it back in his pocket.

Neither of them said anything for a few seconds. "Come on," Derek said, standing. He reached a hand out to Stiles, who swallowed nervously, but took it nevertheless.

They walked in silence out of the house and began the trek out of the forest. "We could just run out of here," Stiles suggested after a few minutes. "It would be a lot faster and Scott's probably already waiting for us."

Derek didn't say anything for a moment and Stiles thought that maybe he was just going to ignore his suggestion, so he stayed quiet. "You're faster than I am," Derek told him. Admitting something like that surprised Stiles.

"Okay," he stopped walking. "Get on my back."

"What?" Derek stopped and spun around.

"I said-"

"I know what you said, Stiles," Derek snapped. "I'm not getting on your back."

Stiles just stood there as they glared at each other. Derek could still see the puffiness in Stiles' eyes. "Fine," he grumbled, walking over to the younger one.

He jumped on his back with ease, and Stiles adjusted him, looping his arms under the werewolf's legs and holding him in place. Derek steadied himself by putting his hands on Stiles' shoulders and they were ready.

"Good?"

Derek just grunted in response and Stiles took off, running faster than Derek had ever gone before. Within a few minutes they were inside the loft. Scott had not arrived yet.

"You owe me a new doorknob," Derek grumbled as he moved to the sitting area.

Stiles was about to respond when he realized how hungry he was. Derek hadn't even made it to sit down before Stiles had flashed over to him and pushed him up against the wall, right beside the door. He couldn't help himself, he smelled so good.

"Stiles, control," Derek told him, his eyes glowing slightly.

"I can't do that right now," Stiles whispered, his lips on Derek's neck.

He licked there, running his tongue along his pulse point. It was hot and sexy, so very sexy. God, Stiles couldn't control himself anymore. His teeth grazed the skin, causing the wolf to growl deep. He smiled against his neck, pleased with the affects he had on the wolf. He bit down sharply, piercing the skin and covering his lips over the wound. He sucked, pleasure coursing through his whole body. Derek seemed to enjoy this as well and his head was thrown back as he didn't resist anymore.

Stiles pushed his body closer to Derek's in lust. For what, he wasn't sure. His own erection pressed against Derek's leg and he released his teeth. He licked up the blood excess as it healed. He continued to lick even after it was healed, though.

"Stiles...." Derek said, trying to push him off without any real effort.

Stiles easily overpowered the werewolf though and pushed hard against him, making him groan. Both of their boners were against each other and were rubbing hard through the material.

Stiles kissed up and down Derek's neck, nipping and licking here and there. Derek's hands were on his shoulders, but only weakly holding, not resisting. Stiles' hands were like magic, setting fire to Derek's skin. His right was caressing Derek's hip, running up and down his torso. His left was holding his neck in place on his left side as his mouth did beautiful things to his skin on the right side.

Stiles kissed up his neck and jawline, moving closer to his mouth. Derek's heart beat increased very much since the beginning and was now faster than ever. Every once and awhile he tried to push Stiles off, but he wanted the boy. He wanted to continue this. It felt so good, especially when Stiles fed off him. He found he liked to be dominated during intimate play, but hated it when someone was challenging the pack. Stiles continued his way closer to his lips slowly in torment.

"Stiles," he whispered, now in a different tone than before. Now it was much different, now he was wanting.

Lips crashed against his and pleasure hit him hard, going right to his dick. Stiles must have felt it too, because he ground his own hips hard against him in a frenzy. Shit, the things he was doing. It was all pure bliss, consuming them both. Why hadn't they done this earlier?

Tongues collided against each other and teeth met as the kiss deepened. Fuck, they were good at this. Stiles' hand moved and reached under his shirt. Derek let his own hands grip Stiles' tee shirt and pull him closer.

He pushed off the wall, throwing them onto the ground and Stiles made no move to change this. Derek was now on top of him, his own mouth running down Stiles' neck. A sigh was heard, followed by a moan. Derek's hands moved under his shirt, pulling it up. His lips connected with the skin there and Stiles panted, his hands were in his thick dark hair, pushing him even closer.

"Fuck," Stiles hips bucked unexpectedly and Derek smirked.

He returned his lips to Stiles' and pressed his body over the Lamia, grinding again. Stiles' hands made their way up Derek's shirt and he palmed the older one. Derek pressed his forehead against Stiles'.

"Bite me," he demanded, eyes glowing red.

Stiles smirked and pulled Derek close. "As you wish," he whispered in his ear before biting down hard on the left side of Derek's neck.

Pleasure rolled off them both in waves as this particular activity made them go weak in the knees. Blood filled Stiles' mouth and he drank from Derek, mouthful after mouthful. His blood was sweeter than the blood bags and much better than Lydia's. It was like the perfect combination of honey and rum. Derek's blood was sweet, but made him go drunk with lust.

"Holy shit," Derek panted, his own hips thrusting into Stiles' uncontrollably and his pants were already wet with pre-cum. He wasn't the only one, though, because Stiles was also soaked.

Stiles pulled back, licking the healing wound and running his tongue up Derek's throat. His lips met Derek's, whom tasted his own blood on Stiles' mouth. It didn't bother him, though. If anything, it excited him even more.

"You taste so wonderful," Stiles breathed heavily on Derek's mouth.

"That right?" Derek flirted back, his own breath erratic and husky. "How about I taste you?"

Stiles smirked as Derek moved his hands downward, undoing his button. "I would be totally fine with that," Stiles said, bringing Derek in for another kiss. "But first I want more of you."

Derek nodded and let his head fall back, exposing his neck. The action was very beta like for a werewolf and Stiles latched his fangs on. Derek groaned, his hips suddenly thrusting into Stiles in ecstatic bliss.

"Hey sorry we're late, we got held up with- OH MY FUCKING GOD!" Scott's voice screamed in their ears the moment the door swung open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can actually tell how long ago I wrote this from the texts Stiles recieves (they say 2015). I originally posted this on my fanfiction.net account but I recently decided to fix it up a little bit and make it less terrible.  
> And if I had the energy I would actually change the pack (I might go back and do this after I've finished) so that Jackson isn't in it, but maybe Malia, Peter, Liam, Mason, and Danny are. I've always kinda like that idea...  
> Again this kinda exists in the void, away from any plotline/timeline because I honestly don't want to try matching it up with what's canon and trying to fit it in somewhere. If you are confused and want clarification, message/comment to me and we'll talk. If you just have a problem and want to be a dick about it, fuck off and go talk to someone who has the energy to put up with your bullshit.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek went ridged and Stiles finished one more mouthful before pulling back. 

"Holy shit!" he swore loudly, closing his eyes and putting his forehead on Derek's shoulder. "What the fuck are you doing here?!" he asked, yelling at Scott.

"What the fuck am I doing here?!" Scott asked, in disbelief, his eyes covered. "Derek told me come over here because he found you-"

"We were not expecting this, though!" Erica shouted.

Stiles groaned, realizing the whole pack was there. "This is so not happening," he whispered to himself.

"Well it is," Derek snapped, maybe a hint of disappointment in his voice. He climbed off the boy and sat down with one knees up and his one arm on the knee. Stiles scrambled to a sitting position and was beet red.

"God, can't you give us a moment-"

"To what?" Scott asked, "To finish what you were doing?" Stiles looked at him, his eyes bugging out. Him and Derek still had very prominent boners. "More specifically, who you were doing." Stiles groaned while he heard some of the other pack members snickering. "Glad to see you're fine. In fact, you look a lot more than just fine."

"Scott," Stiles hissed in warning.

"Okay," Scott put his hands up in defense. "Leaving, we'll be back in ten."

The door closed behind them and Stiles fell back onto the floor. "Fuck."

"My thoughts exactly," Derek whispered, rolling partly on top of the boy. 

Stiles' eyes widened. "No, we can't― they'll walk in― you can't be serious? In ten minutes?" Stiles stuttered.

Derek just placed a rough kiss on his lips before standing. "I'm going to go shower," he said promptly. 

Stiles couldn't help but see his boner, making his mind wander to what exactly the werewolf would be doing in the shower. He shook the thoughts away, Scott would be back before they would have time to do anything, anyway.

* * *

 

Stiles had waited on the stairs as Derek was finishing his shower in the bathroom across from him. He had his own towel ready and kept replaying the events that had just occurred. Derek apparently was quick at taking showers, though, and was out within two minutes with a towel hung loosely around his waist. The steam pouring out of the room added even more to Stiles' lust for the older guy. Shaking the ideas away, he stood and left for the bathroom as Derek headed to his dresser.

Closing the door behind him, he immediately caught the smell.

Arousal.

Holy shit. Derek had... God, he couldn't even finish the sentence.

Derek must've been quiet then. Either that or Stiles wasn't really paying attention. How could he have missed something like that?

These thoughts however, made Stiles hard again. Damn it, why did everything make him horny? Stiles turned the water on and stripped. As soon as his clothes were off, he stepped into the steamy area, letting the droplets fall over his body. The smell of Derek surrounded him and he realized he hadn't had a shower in a while. The thought disgusted him, yet at the same time he realized he had not really had a reason to shower, as he had done nothing to make himself that dirty.

Back to the thoughts of Derek, Stiles massaged himself, imagining Derek kissing up and down his torso. Or maybe the werewolf's mouth capturing him and licking his length. He thought about the guy's hands pulling at his ass, forcing him closer to him. Stiles pressed the back of his head to the cold wall as he built up his orgasm. Warm water rained down on him, adding to the sensation. It was spectacle only he was involved in, but as the show played out, he knew he wanted Derek there with him.

Giving himself more push and pull, he came. Stiles let out a shaky breath and his body trembled slightly as the orgasm overcame him.

Remains of his pleasure washed down the drain, yet he could still smell it. Just as he could with Derek's.

* * *

Stiles came out of the bathroom fully dressed nearly three minutes later.

"Took you long enough," Derek grumbled, not looking up from his book on the couch. "Scott will be back in three, maybe two."

Stiles just nodded as he went to sit by the wolf. "So, uh..." And it was awkward. Because of Stiles. "Um, about the whole... kissing... and... biting thing..." Stiles looked at Derek nervously, while said wolf didn't look at him. "That was a... one time thing...?"

"Are you asking or telling?"

"Well... I, uh..." Stiles was at a loss for words. He cleared his throat. "I, um, I- it was okay. You know, the whole..." he waved his hands around before putting one behind his neck and rubbing it, "thing. I guess... I mean-"

Derek suddenly snapped his book closed, causing Stiles to jump a bit and his eyes to meet with Derek's. "Did you enjoy it or not?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the younger one. Stiles nodded, silently, having a whole flashback of their little activity earlier. "Then there you have it," Derek concluded as he put his book on the coffee table.

"Wait," Stiles tried to pause, still not getting a clear answer. "What do you mean-?"

Derek was suddenly on top of him and Stiles' eyes widened in surprise. "I mean," Derek said in his ear with a husky voice, "that we can continue because that particular activity was pleasurable for both of us. Was it not?"

Stiles' mind was racing a mile a minute and he got slightly caught up in Derek's eyes. "Yes. I mean no. Wait, what? Yes, yes it was pleasurable." His thoughts zapped to a moment in the shower when he was alone.

Derek's lip twitched then and Stiles swore the wolf might just have smiled. He pulled back, returning to his seat just as the door opened, leaving a very flushed and embarrassed Stiles to receive some strange looks..

"Done?" Scott asked hesitantly, looking between the two of them.

Stiles sighed, "Yes, I'm done."

"Great," Scott came into the loft fully, behind him, the Pack trailed in.

* * *

The meeting was short. It was so everyone got on the same base, understanding wise. Any confusion about Stiles' new state and his abilities was cleared up, for the most part anyways (they still have no idea the limits of his "powers").

As everyone was being dismissed, the sun was coming up. "See you later," Scott said, a final goodbye before the door closed.

Stiles leaned against the wall as Derek pressed his back to the now shut door. "Tired?" Derek inquired, observing Stiles' sluggish body language.

"You betcha," he said, stumbling to one of the couches, his eyes closed in exhaustion. Just as he got near one of the couches though, he collapsed. Derek was suddenly by his side. "Stiles?"

He groaned in response, curling into a ball. 

"Are you hurt?" From what Derek could tell, he wasn't in any pain, just looking really tired.

"Sleep," the Lamia mumbled, his whole body unfocused.

Derek sighed and scooped the teen up in his arms. Almost immediately Stiles curled into his body, taking in his scent. At the smell of Derek, however, the teen's eyes shot open. The wolf suddenly stopped walking, smelling the intense scent of desire rolling off the Lamia.

"Stiles," Derek said at the same time as Stiles told him: "Never mind sleep, I wanna fuck."

"Stiles, you need to rest," Derek told him forcefully, starting to walk again. "It's sunrise and you've had a busy day."

"You can help me finish it," Stiles purred, one of his hands coming up to Derek's cheek, cupping it. Derek stiffened slightly but his strides didn't falter.

"Or I can help you finish it by putting you to bed," Derek suggested, laying Stiles down on his bed under the stairs.

"Great idea," Stiles flirted, pulling Derek on top of him. Derek's eyes widened at the action, but when he tried to move the Lamia had pinned him in place- which was weird seeing as he was on the top then. Stiles kept a firm grip with one hand on Derek's hip and the other wound around his neck. Derek was forced to support himself with his knees between Stiles' legs and his hands on either side of Stiles' shoulders.

Currently, Stiles had pressed their lips together in a tight lock. It took a few moments for Derek to realize that he had better pull back. That slight hesitancy telling Stiles all that he needed to know. When Derek did finally pull back, his ears were tinted red with embarrassment while Stiles smirked up at him.

"Sti-" his words were cut short and quickly turned to a gasp as Stiles' lips attached themselves to his neck in a teasing pleasure. Stiles' grip on him loosened. "Oh...." he breathed out, not able to contain the sounds escaping through his teeth. "No... uh, Stiles...." Derek pulled back, detaching himself from Stiles completely, rolling off the teen sideways.

"Come on-" Stiles spoke, reaching for the wolf.

"Go to bed, Stiles," Derek told him as he stood, making his way to his own bed.

* * *

When Stiles woke again, Scott was leaving the loft, the door closing shut behind him. Derek, Stiles seemed to notice right away, was in the kitchen. From where he was, he could smell the leftovers of spaghetti and garlic bread. Derek was already tending to the dirty dishes and pots left behind. The thought of food made Stiles' stomach grumble. Instead of giving in, he sighed and fell back onto his bed.

"You up?" Derek asked, his voice at normal volume. There was no need to raise it due to them both having supernatural hearing.

Stiles groaned, "Huhmmm."

"Hungry for some breakfast?" Derek asked, pausing in the kitchen from where he was cleaning up.

"Only if it's you," Stiles whispered, eyes closed. A smirk spread across his face. Damn, he was a smooth motherfucker.

"Sorry to rain on your parade, but you get blood packets today," Derek told him. "You're still needing work on your control."

"Control, control, control," Stiles mimicked him, mockingly. "Blah, blah, blah," he rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Stiles, this isn't something that you can just go along with. It will take work."

"Yeah," was all he said in response. He heard Derek sigh before turning back to his own chore.

* * *

When Derek had left the kitchen, Stiles finally moved to get something to eat. All thoughts of doing anything intimate with Derek were gone. He was grumpy now and for good reason- at least in his opinion. As Stiles came into the eating area, he caught scent of Derek. Oh God did it smell good, the smell of that wolf with his-

No, no, no, and no. Stiles was not going there.

He pushed all thoughts of a certain wolf out of his head and moved to open the ice chest of blood bags. It was filled to the top now, Scott must have replenished it when he stopped by. Stiles grabbed the three from the top layer and snapped the lid closed. Returning to his seat on a barstool that now regularly sat at, he had already ripped into the first bag. Derek was on the sofa now on his laptop, clicking away on the keyboard as Stiles finished up his meal.

"I'm going out tonight," Derek said, not looking up and not stopping his fingers from pressing the keys.

Stiles furrowed his eyebrow, "What's the occasion?" He let his empty blood bags fall into the trash can.

Derek stopped typing and turned his head slightly, "Scott will be over here soon."

"Why? Where are you going?" Stiles asked, moving to the lounge area. “Scott was  _ just _ here.”

Derek closed his laptop. "That's him." A knock on the door came a second later and Derek stood. "You're to stay here tonight."

"Why? Can't I come with?" Stiles whined as Derek walked to the door. He just got a sharp shake of the head in response and grumbled. "You're no fun."

The door swung open and in stepped Scott. "Good luck," Derek said, leaving quickly without so much as a final glance.

"What's his deal?" Scott asked, gesturing to the hallway.

Stiles shrugged. "Thought you'd know. He wouldn't tell me anything."

"Huh." Scott came over, sitting down on the armchair, "So, you and Derek...?"

"Oh God..." Stiles mumbled, his head leaned back in annoyance.

* * *

The evening was pretty boring considering Derek didn't have a television or any sort of modern entertainment other than books. Scott had brought a deck of cards and they played a few games before the pair decided they'd had enough.

"When's Derek s'posed be back?" Stiles asked, leaning back on the sofa.

Scott shrugged, dropping a magazine he was reading down on the table. "Beats me. He just told me he needed a night to himself."

This caught Stiles interest. Derek had promised they would continued their... recent activities. Did this mean they weren't exclusive? A sudden surge of jealously rolled off Stiles and his jaw hardened.

"Relax, Stiles," Scott told him, noticing the boy's stiffness. "I'm sure it's nothing you need to worry about it. It’s probably just some Derek thing. If it was serious he’d tell me.”

Stiles didn't give a response as he got up to get some blood bags.

* * *

A few more hours passed and there was still no word from Derek. In that time they had discussed a lot of things and played more games. Scott updated Stiles on school stuff: gossip and other social norms. They talked about the new xbox games coming out and a few new movies they would have to go see soon. Eventually the talk died out and they sat in a comfortable silence.

"Do you―" Stiles started then stopped. "With Allison and Kira... Did, do you ever..."

"Ever what?"

"I don't know, what did you do with Allison?"

Scott laughed lightly, "I did... girlfriendy things with her," Stiles waited for him to elaborate. "You know... kissing, flirting, talking, text-"

"No. I mean like...nevermind," Stiles shook his head, laughing it off.

Scott's brow furrowed, "No, what were you gonna say?"

Stiles hesitated, "Does your werewolf side ever...?"

Scott's lips pursed, "I don't know what you mean."

He sighed trying to form his words. "Does your werewolf side ever... I don't know... come out or want more?"

"You mean like in a sexual way?"

Stiles nodded.

Scott flushed, "Yah." There was an awkward pause. "Is that the deal with Derek?"

Stiles swallowed and gave a short nod.

Scott nodded slowly in understanding, "Is that... bad?"

"I... I don't know," he replied, averting his eyes from meeting Scott's. "He's okay with it... as long as I'm keeping control over my bloodlust but..."

"But?"

"But I've never... been attracted to him before now. I mean, before I was a Lamia I never saw him as anything. I was always just into guys. Now... I see him and- and he's gorgeous." Stiles flushed, and Scott coughed a little his ears turning pink.

"So what? Becoming a vampire made you bisexual?"

Stiles just shrugged, "I don't know. I mean, I don't really find you attractive. Like, in a more than platonic way."

"Yah," Scott nodded.

There was a few seconds of silence.

"I'm gonna go get a blood bag―"

"Yup."

Stiles got up to get what he was after and Scott pulled out his phone and proceeded to play a game.

* * *

 

By the time Derek returned, Stiles had fallen asleep and Scott was on the verge of crashing as well. As soon as Derek was back, Scott sighed a heavy sigh and left, leaving the alpha to babysit the Lamia.

As Stiles slept, Derek pulled out a few books and read until he felt it was fine to go ahead and doze off.

* * *

Stiles woke to the sound of a page turning. By glancing around the same area, he was able to find Derek right away. The alpha was reading, figures, it seemed that was all the guy ever seemed to do. Ever.

Finding himself hungry, Stiles headed to the cooler. "So, um, where did you―" halfway to the kitchen, Stiles caught the distinct smell of someone else. More specifically a lingering smell that had been on Derek's jacket, which now laid across the back of one the kitchen chairs. "Meet someone new?" he asked, his voice tight.

Derek glanced up, concern not showing in his features. Fear flashed in Stiles as he remembered his thought about him the other night. The thought where it might be possible they didn't have a closed relationship.

"Yes," Derek said calmly, turning a page of his book. "There's another pack in town."

Stiles internally sighed, thanking whomever that Derek hadn't slept with someone else. "Oh?"

"Nothing to worry about," Derek said, getting up from his place on the couch. "They're just passing through."

"Are you sure?" Stiles asked, pulling a bag from the cooler and shutting it.

"I made sure of it."

Sometimes Stiles forgot that alpha werewolves were pretty scary when they needed to be. He swallowed quietly, "Was it necessary?"

Derek's eyes narrowed, suddenly directed at Stiles as if accusing him of challenging his better judgment. "Beacon Hills territory belongs to the Hale pack," Derek almost growled.

Stiles took an involuntary step back, forgetting he was no longer human despite the blood bag he held in his hands. "Okay, dude," he put his hands up in surrender. "Whatever the Sourwolf says."

Derek held the glare one last second before turning and sitting at one of the barstools. Stiles occupied himself by starting on the blood bag in his hand. Focusing on control, Stiles started and successfully finished the bag without shifting.

"You're getting better," Derek commented, not looking up from his book. He smiled at the small praise from his alpha.

* * *

Stiles wasn't sure how long he'd been at Derek's. It sure felt like a long time. A month? Less than one? His internal clock was messed up. He missed school, something he wasn't sure he would miss. He also missed his dad. His dad, all alone in that big house. Oh, how he wished to be with him. The pack was also added to the list of things he missed.

Although he saw a few of them (mostly just Scott and sometimes Allison), it got really boring just sitting there all night with Derek. He did say that he read a lot. Like, no joke. The only entertainment he had was books. He had begged Derek to buy a tv but the Sourwolf refused, saying it would be a waste of money. Well Stiles knew that was total bullshit, he would be using it everyday if Derek got one for him. He was sure he'd read every book and magazine in the whole apartment.

And in the time he'd been here, Derek had only left a few more nights to take care of more "pack" stuff. One time he came back with a minor scratch across his cheek, this made Stiles suspicious about the pack that was so called "leaving" and what Derek had really meant when he said he would "take care of it." Was Derek in danger? Did this other pack mean war? Was Scott aware of this?

Stiles' bloodlust had improved in the time. And though this was an accomplishment, Derek kept reminding him that there would be "no funny business" until he was entirely under control. With that, Stiles decided it didn't matter what Derek said, he was still a rule stickler. All he could do was grumble about it and move off to his corner and read.

There had been no more unpredictable uncontrollable bloodlust moments (or random horny moments) since then either. Stiles' record was, so to speak, clean. And things had been smoothed over with Lydia and she had totally forgiven him for biting her even after he demanded to still be mad at him and call him a monster like he truly was. She refused and calmed him down, saying that he wasn't anymore of a monster than the rest of them. This didn't really help the situation as the other people in the room, at the time, were all werewolves....

Stiles found himself getting more and more restless with the lack of reading material and other forms of entertainment. Most nights Derek read and did some sort of meditating. Either way, Stiles was missing Netflix and taste of human food.

Stiles had a hand behind his head and was laying on his bed. "Hey," he said, throwing a tennis ball into the air then catching it. When Derek didn't respond, he repeated himself: "Hey."

A grunt. At least it was something.

"Hey-ey," he said again, breaking into syllables, "hey hey-ey."

No response that time but there was an eyeroll. Stiles squinted in concentration and threw the ball up again.

"Hey Derek," the werewolf exhaled heavily, irritated. "You know what would be good?" No response. Another throw. "Board games," he caught the ball then threw it up again. "Like, I know we have a deck of cards but.... what about Mancala or Goblet?" He glanced at his roommate. "Derek?"

"Hm?" The wolf didn't look up from his magazine.

Stiles watched a few seconds. The ball held still in his hand. And he found himself really taking in the other man. From his stubble to his long lashes and nose. To his relaxed position with his breathing calm and serene. The book held loosely in his hand and his eyes scanning every sentence. And suddenly Stiles' breath was caught and he couldn't breathe. The air was cold and his throat was closed.

"Stiles?" Derek asked, snapping him to attention.

"What?"

He looked annoyed, "You said my name."

"Oh," the teen's face fell and reality sunk in. "Yeah, never mind." He got up, leaving the ball on his bed. "I'm just gonna get...." he pointed off to the kitchen but trailed off when he realized that Derek wasn't even listening. "Yeah."

* * *

The next time Stiles found himself watching Derek was when the wolf was doing pushups. Of course this was a bad idea, given that he already knew he was physically attracted to the other man. But pretending to be reading a book while actually secretly watching your pack alpha workout? That was borderline creepy. But what could he say? He'd already read that book that very same month. Things were getting tight and annoying. Derek was... providing an entertaining distraction.

It didn't help that he was wearing a muscle shirt. God damn.

Down, small pieces of his hair shifted forward, his bangs not long enough to cover his face or even get close. Up, his arms flexing and his whole body showing the strong muscles used to do such work. Down, Stiles couldn't see his hands or arms shaking. So much power. So much control. Up, it was like he was God, just making it look so easy. Down. Up, Derek's hot breath as he exhaled, it was almost like Stiles could feel it from across the room. Down, holy shit this was attractive. Then Derek's eyes made contact with Stiles and Stiles was gone- running as fast as he could using his Lamia speed to find an exit and get into the bathroom.

From Derek's point of view it must have just looked like a blur; looking up to meet Stiles' eyes then suddenly he was flashing into the bathroom. Stiles could hear a soft chuckle from outside the door and he could feel his cheeks burn hotter.

A half a minute later Stiles was in the shower― specifically thinking about Derek.

* * *

When Stiles returned to the living space, Derek was holding some sort of yoga pose or something. His eyes were closed and he looked very into it. Clearing his head, Stiles just moved to his bed and flopped down. He sighed deeply. Did he mention his boredom?

"I've been thinking about what you said," Derek spoke.

Stiles head shot up, "What?"

"About your idea with getting some board games."

"Oh, yeah. What were you-"

"Last time I played a game it was with Cora." Derek said, eyes still closed. "We were playing Crazy Eights." When Stiles didn't say anything, he continued, "If I get Mancallo and Gobblet, will you shut up?"

"Y-" he cleared his throat, "Yeah."

"Okay," Derek opened his eyes and got up, grabbing a towel from the back of the couch. Then he headed to the bathroom.

"And Derek?"

The alpha didn't stop, only turning his head and saying, "Hm?" in response.

"It's Mancala."

"Hmph," was all he heard before the door shut.

* * *

"So this is my row," Stiles directed, pointing to an area on the carved wood board. "And this is yours. We're trying to get as many stones as we can to our side, in these longer dips."

"Stiles―"

"And you can only move towards yourself. If your stone pile ends in your collector area then you get to go again. If it ends in another filled cup, you pick that one up and―"

"Stiles, I know."

"What?" Stiles looked up at him, his hand still motioning on the long wooden board.

"I read the instructions when I picked it up at the store."

"Oh," Stiles flushed, "right, of course. That makes sense.."

Derek didn't say anything as he took the first turn and picked up the flat marbles in the little wooden cup-like dents. He went around, dropping a stone in each cup along the way and ending with one on his own side. Picking another cup to choose from he went again and the game commenced.

* * *

"Fourth time! I win!" Stiles yelled, pumping his fist in the air. They had moved on from Mancala, which Stiles had frequently won at and were now playing Gobblet, another game Stiles was frequently winning at.

"Sit down, we're not done."

"The rounds over though and I took all your pieces."

"I demand a rematch," Derek growled.

"Fine whatever, sore loser," Stiles teased. Derek glared and put the pieces back up. "What do you wanna play to? First one to five?"

"Ten."

"But I'm so close―"

"Exactly."

Stiles pouted, "Aw, you're no fun."

Derek glanced up from the board a fraction of a second, eyes slightly roaming over the unaware Stiles as he jested about Derek's loss.

"No, I suppose I'm not. Am I?" Derek replied, rhetorically asking Stiles.

The Lamia gave him a strange look before shrugging it off and helping set up pieces.

"You know," Stiles said, leaving back in the couch. "This is much better than I thought it would be. I expected you to be all grumpy― or um, more grumpy than you are now, but really you're pretty competitive and all for it. You're not fooling anyone Derek, it's okay to like to play games."

Derek didn't look up, as he played his move. "I don't know where you got the idea that I don't like games."

Stiles didn't say anything for a second, not sure how to respond to that. He couldn't recall where he had gotten that assumption from. "I don't know, up just figured, uh, grumpy wolf means no fun."

Derek seemed to be confused at this as his face drew together in a contorted facial expression. "No fun?" He growled.

Stiles stopped smiling at that. Had he said something wrong? Things were fine a moment ago. "Yeah, I'm just joking with you, Der―"

Fierce eyes met his own and he realized it wasn't anger Derek was feeling. And it was no longer confusion. It was― it looked like he was being dominate. Or possessive. Almost like―

Oh.

Stiles swallowed hard and it was hard to breath again. Derek's eyes never left his, like they were frozen and cutting glass. But neither one of them had moved.

"Derek?" Stiles asked stupidly, his voice tight and constricting. When the wolf didn't respond he clenched his jaw, wondering if he'd said the wrong thing.

Stiles flashed over to him, suddenly on the couch beside him. Derek adjusted and look at him and within the second of being there, the werewolf's hot lips were on his, heavy and lustful. Stiles immediately gave into the kiss, angling his head and pulling Derek closer by the sides of his head. Derek slipped his arms around his waist and held him, perfectly rigid and flush against one another.

"And now?" Derek hissed, kissing down Stiles' jawline and neck as the teen gasped.

"Fuck, what? What are you―? Oh!" Stiles arched and Derek's mouth fell right beside his ear.

"Am I any fun now?" Derek whispered, hot lips moving over his ear making Stiles shrivel in pleasure. "Huh?" he asked, pushing the younger boy down on the couch, so he laid on top.

"Mmhm, aghh..." Stiles tried to respond, as Derek continued to kiss his way around Stiles' body.

"Hmmm?" Derek inquired, grinding against him, making his eyes roll closed.

"Yes," Stiles whispered, hushed and forceful. "Fuck, yes."


	4. Chapter 4

"What was that?" Derek hissed, his voice low.

"Yes, yes―" Stiles panted, "you are so much fucking fun."

The werewolf rolled his hips forward again, making the Lamia whimper. "Do you want to know how much fun I can be?" Derek whispered in Stiles' ear, rolling his hips again and going to kiss Stiles' neck.

"Fuck―" Stiles hissed, "yes, show me how― how fun you can be..."

The werewolf continued his exploration down Stiles' neck and ripped his shirt open, fucking ripped the shirt open. With each kiss, the wolf left his tongue swirling on the boy's skin, leaving a hot wet trail in his path. He took a nipple into his mouth, circling it with the tip of his tongue and rubbing it across the top quickly, drawing moans and pants from Stiles.

"Holy shit!" Stiles yelped, his back arched.

"You like that?" Derek whispered against his skin.

"Ah, yeah, fuck yeah I like that," Stiles told him, his hands going to Derek's shoulders as if he needed to brace himself.

"That so?" The wolf murmured, making his way down his stomach, leaving a trail of kisses. He nipped here and there, making the vampire squirm under his touch.

Derek continued his way to his lower stomach, making the teen's hips jump forward. "Oh, fuck," Stiles hissed, eyes clamped shut, "ah, just fucking screw me hard already."

"What was that?" Derek mumbled against his skin, his stubble scratching the boy lightly.

Stiles' eyes flew open, "Did I really just say that out loud, ah fu...." he trailed off his hands coming to his face in embarrassment.

Derek smirked, pulling his face up to Stiles' and barely grazing their boners against each other in the process. "Stiles," Derek whispered, pulling Stiles' hands away from his face, and putting his lips right to Stiles' ear, "I like it when you talk dirty to me," he whispered, making Stiles flush red even more.

"I..." he was at a loss for words now.

Derek slowly rolled his hips against the boy's, torturously. "So start talking." Derek retreated, making his way back down Stiles body, as the boy adjusted himself accordingly. "I'm not hearing anything, Stiles," Derek drawled, his voice vibrating in Stiles' abdomen.

"Shit, when you say that..." Stiles moaned, just as Derek licked his hip bone.

"I'm waiting."

"Blow me, Derek," Stiles hissed, his hands going to Derek's shoulders again and his hips shifting forward. "Suck my dick like it's a fucking lollipop."

That did it. Derek yanked Stiles' pants and boxers down, springing free his erection and making Stiles suck in a breath.

"That's it," Stiles coaxed, as Derek took the tip of his cock into his mouth. "That's it, nice and deep. Bury me inside you're fucking tight mouth like... ah!" Derek did just that, taking Stiles in deep and humming a bit once he was all the way in. "Just like that," Stiles choked out, his head thrown back and his back slightly arched.

And then Derek began to move, bobbing his head up and down, in and out. Stiles was momentarily silenced, his voice gone as he was left in pleasure.

"Ah fuck," Stiles hissed, ramming his hips upward to meet one of Derek's thrusts. It didn't happen again though because fingers then gripped his hips and pulled them to the bed, stilling them. "Nah, fuck, why. Come on, Derek, faster."

The werewolf did go faster, and with every up pull his tongue ran along the sensitive spot right below the head of his dick and when he could, he'd swirl the tip of his tongue over the boy's slit, making him jump and cry out.

"Ah fuck that's it, that's it, faster," Stiles encouraged, "come on you alpha werewolf, gimme all you got, suck me hard and fast in and out your wet tight mouth. Those fucking cheeks hollowing and... Fuck!"

His back arched more, "Derek I..." he panted, "I'm so close, I don't know if you wanna swallow or..." His eyes clenched tightly. "Derek, Derek, I'm gonna com― AH!" His eyes flipped dark red, showing his true form and he came, straight into Derek's mouth, who swallowed and licked every drop of him up.

"Holy fucking shit, holy shit," his back laid back onto the couch, no longer arched and he slumped, coming down from his orgasm as Derek pulled back. He pulled his boxers and jeans up, wiggling a little to do so.

Then he pulled himself up, onto his knees and pressed his lips to Derek's, possessively and tasting himself in the process. "That was good, that was so very good," he whispered, on his lips, grabbing the werewolf by his collar. "Now tell me," asked, pulling back and looking down slightly at Derek who sat back on his feet, "how can I please you?"

Derek just smirked, staring straight on into Stiles' eyes. "You got some red eyes," he whispered, his fingers trailing lightly by his temple and eye.

"Yeah, some red fucking eyes that want you," Stiles growled, pressing his lips to Derek's and pushing the wolf down on the couch. "So tell me, Mr. Hale," he straddled the wolf, "how would you like to be devoured?"

Derek smirked, thrusting his hips upward, causing the vamp above him to narrow his eyes and flash his fangs. "With you begging for one more taste," Derek purred, his own eyes flickering their bright alpha red.

Stiles smirked, kissing Derek lightly before moving to his neck. He lightly nibbled and pecked in places before earning a irritated growl from Derek telling him to hurry things alone. "Eager, are you?" Derek narrowed his eyes, even if Stiles couldn't see him.

Stiles licked his neck, running his tongue along the main artery there. Then positioned his teeth above the skin and slowly, and careful dug himself into the wolf's flesh, both of them moaning deeply at the action. Derek's hips even jumped at the action, and his eyes fluttered slightly in the onslaught of pleasure he was receiving, even if pain accompanied it.

Then Stiles was sucking slowly, drinking in Derek cautiously and drawing out his time with him. His hands caught a hold of the Derek's shirt near the middle of his torso as Derek's hands pulled at Stiles' thighs, bringing the vampire's hips even closer to his own.

When Stiles detached himself, licking over the already healing wound, Derek panted, "More," with his head thrown back in ecstasy.

"No," Stiles hushed, placing a finger on the alpha's lips, "shh, shh."

"Stiles," Derek groaned, "I can take it."

Stiles leaned in, letting their eyes meet. "I can't," he whispered, his eyes fading back to their natural color. "I'll lose control... or rather more of it."

Derek's lips pursed in understanding, then his eyes flickered to the boy's lips, "There are more ways to play than just..."

"What, sucking?" Stiles laughed, "because I'd say that sucking it a pretty nice way of pleasuring someone."

Derek's ears tinted red, "I was gonna say feeding off their blood."

"I guess that works too," Stiles whispered, his voice dropping out as he leaned in for a gentle kiss, one that Derek fully accepted and rolled his hips into. "Ooh, but when you do that..." he said against Derek's lips, making the wolf almost smile.

"Shut up," Derek said, flipping them over.

Stiles smiled up at him, "Aren't you a control freak."

Derek growled, thrusting his hips forward harshly, making the teen exhale sharply and moan. "I said to shut up," Derek hissed, leaning in and thrusting his hips again.

Derek's left leg was between Stiles' legs, and their erections were pressed firmly against the small crevice between their partner's thigh and groin, a great place to move and cause friction.

"I thought you said you liked it when I spoke dirty to you?" When no reply was given, and only another thrust, Stiles pulled Derek in my the back of his neck and whispered in his ear, "What, is the big bad wolf afraid he's gonna hurt me? Afraid of fucking me too hard?" Derek's thrusts almost faltered, "Afraid of ramming his rock hard cock right up against my own swollen dick?"

At that, Derek sped them up, grinding up against the boy shamelessly to the point where it was almost painful. And they built up a pace like that, rutting fast against each other, Stiles occasionally whispering naughty things into Derek's ear, encouraging him even more.

"Aren't you just a beast?" Stiles commented, panting erratically, his lips pressed right up against Derek's ear.

"Who knew you were so rough and sexy in bed. Dry humping me like some kind of horny teenager. God, Derek, I just love it when you push that long thick cock of yours against mine, rutting against me, making me want to come hard and fast and wet."

Derek pressed his lips to Stiles' aggressively, making his last few thrusts even harder. "That's it baby," Stiles coaxed, almost reaching his own climax, "come on, come for me. Come hard for me, right into your boxers."

Derek's eyes met Stiles, glowing bright red as he came, letting loose a choked growl and pressing his chest clear to Stiles'. Stiles came a second later, his head thrown back as his own eyes darkened quickly with the reddish-black color.

All movement stopped, save for their heavy breathing. Derek had practically fallen on top of Stiles, his head on the teen's chest and their legs still tangled.

And they laid there, coming down from their highs and melting into each others embrace, their eyes returning to their natural state and their fangs retracting.

"You're beautiful," Stiles whispered, running his fingers through Derek's hair, as the man rested his chin on the vamp's chest.

"And you're cute," Derek teased, his eyes still closed.

"So he does have a sense of humor." They were quiet for a few seconds. "I'm still tagging you as grumpy though."

"Hmph."

Stiles carded through his hair a little more before speaking once more, "Okay but we have to get cleaned up, my come is drying in my pants."

Derek gave a little chuckle and nod before removing himself from Stiles, who quickly got up and shuffled to the bathroom, "Want company in there?" He called after him.

He heard Stiles scoff, "That would counteract the idea of showering."

"Yeah, but we'd be in the shower!"

* * *

 

"I'm going out again tonight," Derek said, pulling his leather jacket on. The sun had just set, meaning Stiles and Derek just woke.

Stiles looked up from his book, he was laying on his bed, "I thought you said you took care of them."

Derek didn't answer, just turned his head with what looked to Stiles like pursed lips.

Stiles swallowed, "They're not... trying to take Beacon Hills or anything, right? I mean, Scott and everyone can usually take care of things, so this is like a small thing, right?"

"Scott should be over in a half hour," Derek said, not answering his questions.

Stiles got up, "Hey, woah, no," he moved to Derek quickly, "I need to know what you're doing out there," he put a hand on Derek's shoulder.

"You want to know," Derek said, lifting Stiles hand and walking away without another glance to the boy.

"Fine then!" Stiles said, throwing his arms up, "Don't tell me, it's not like I'm worried or anything!" The wolf kept walking, "Yeah nice chat, I guess I'll see you later then?!"

The door slammed close.

"Yeah, fuck you, Derek," he said under his breath, returning to his bed and plopping down on it.

* * *

 

"What's got you in a bad mood?" Scott asked, sitting on the couch and carding through a magazine with little interest. Stiles was spread out on the other sofa across from him, his hands covering his face.

"Derek's an asshole," Stiles grumbled.

Scott chuckled, "And this is news to you? He's always been an asshole."

He glared, "He won't tell me what's going on out there."

"Oh," Scott realized, "so you're afraid he's snooping off to go screw some other vampire?"

"No, he doesn't smell like sex."

Scott scoffed, "Yeah he does," he smirked, "but then again, so do you."

Stiles glared, "We haven't gone that far."

It had only been the day before with their little humping session, and Stiles supposed a blowjob had been thrown in there too. That was a damn good blowjob, Stiles remembered, almost going hard right then at the memory.

"But you want to."

No response.

Scott readjusted himself, "But anyway, he told you he was just telling another pack to piss off, why's that a bad thing?"

Stiles' eyebrows drew together as he sat up, "He's not telling me everything."

"How so?"

Stiles shrugged, looking down at his hands, "I don't know, I can just feel he's not telling me something."

"Do you think he would do that?"

He shrugged again, sighing this time, "It's Derek, I don't know anything."

Scott contemplated this for a moment, "What reason would he have to lie?"

"I don't know," Stiles fell back onto the couch again, "All I know is that I need to know, I don't like this feeling of not seeing the big picture."

* * *

 

Stiles could smell the blood before he was even in the building.

Derek returned with a big slash across his face with blood running from the wound as well as from his forehead. Judging by the way he held himself and the visible damage taken to his body, Stiles immediately put together that Derek had been in a nasty fight.

"What the hell happened to you?" Scott asked, jumping up. Stiles was remain frozen, only watching as Scott worried over his alpha.

"It's nothing I'm fine," his voice was gruff and he was obviously exhausted as he pushed away Scott's hands. He was limping slightly as he came into the room more.

"This isn't nothing, Derek," Scott hissed as he pulled back Derek's leather jacket, revealing a huge gash across his side.

"I'm fine," he said, moving to sit on the closest couch. He fell into its cushions, looking like he had barely made it there.

Stiles was still frozen, standing right in front of his bed, a good distance away from his pack leader. The smell of blood was rushing into him, hitting him harder now that Derek was closer and Scott was lifting his shirt to assess the gash.

"We need to get you to Deaton," Scott said, glancing up at Derek's face.

"I'm fine," Derek growled, pushing away Scott's hands. "I'll heal, it just needs time."

"Derek, it's not healing," Scott pushed, "Who were you fighting?"

The alpha let his head fall back then, his chest heaving with deep breathes as if he was struggling not to scream out in pain.

The sight was something Stiles hadn't really seen before. Derek was always controlled and even when injured, he was forceful and dominant. It was weird having Scott fawn over him, but it wasn't something he hadn't seen before.

"Stiles!" Scott calling his name snapped him out of this thoughts, and his eyes met his best friend's. "For Christ's sake, will you call Deaton?!"

The urgency in Scott's voice shook Stiles and he got out his phone, hands shaking as he scrolled through his contacts. He found Deaton's name and punched the screen then brought it to his ear.

It took a few rings for Deaton to answer, "What is it, Stiles?"

His voice was stuck in his throat, the smell was heavy in the air around him. He let out a shaky breath and took a step back, his calves running into his bed. His eyes flickered, the red color itching to take control.

"Stiles?"

Yes, that's right, Deaton was still on the phone. 

"Derek," he breathed, but no words came out, only an airy whisper. "Derek," he said again, "he's," his breath caught once more, and he shut his eyes, his mind going fuzzy with lust. "Bleeding," he choked out, eyes open in wide, staring at the scene before him.

"I'm on my way," Deaton told him. He heard a car starting in the background, "Stiles, listen to me." He listened, "Stay in control. You need to go get a blood bag and focus on that. I will be there soon, don't worry about Derek. Stay in control." There was a pause, "Stiles, do you hear me?"

"Yes," he whispered, eyes turning red like a lit flame, "I hear you."

The phone crushed in his hands, shattering into small fragments and cutting his own hand, which was already beginning to heal. He stayed frozen though, rooted in place.

Scott was cleaning Derek's wound and applying pressure as the wolf's hands clenched and unclenched in obvious pain with his mouth gritted closed.

"Stiles!" Scott yelled, "what did Deaton say?"

He released his hand, letting the phone crash to the floor, this action making Scott and Derek look to Stiles.

"Shit," Scott swore under his breath, seeing the Lamia's eyes swirling dark red.

"Cont―control, Stiles," Derek said through clenched teeth, eyeing the boy.

Stiles couldn't think, his mind had gone fuzzy and he only saw what he wanted― blood. The scent was everywhere, the wolf's blood contaminating the air and polluting his thoughts. His fangs were already inching out painfully with every second, no doubt slowly becoming visible to the watching eyes.

He had to have a taste, he knew. The blood that was sweet, the blood that he knew would be sweet, having had some before. And he was quite eager for that taste now.

He took a step forward, his feet heavy and his eyes targeting the neck of his next victim. He smiled, anticipating the taste that would soon fill his mouth and coat his throat. He continued his steps, getting closer to the supply.

"Stiles, it's Derek," Scott said, but he was only a barrier between him and the sweet sweet blood.

When he didn't stop and a hand held him back, he pushed, shoving the weak werewolf across the room and hitting the wall. He knelt down, immediately latching onto the alpha's neck and marvelling in the taste.

Hands came up, pushing him at the shoulders, but Stiles pushed back harder, pinning the wrists and biting down harder, earning a pained cry from the body beneath him. He licked over the wound he made and pressed his hand to the gash in Derek's side, making the wolf grunt and try and push away. He laughed lightly, enjoying the struggle his meal put up.

"Now now, shhh," he ran the hand that just touched the wound down Derek's cheek, leaving a trail of glistening blood, "nothing to worry about." He licked his upper lip, clearing the blood there and Derek visibly swallowed.

"Stiles," his attention shot over to Scott who lay on the floor, trying to stand. "This isn't you."

He smirked, eyes darkening more into that blackish color. "But I'm having fun," he told him before suddenly dropping his head to lick Derek's side wound.

Derek cried out, both in surprise and pain, his hands tightening into fists as they were still held down by Stiles' free hand. He licked around the wound, clearing the fresh blood, seeing as Scott had cleaned it already. Then he dipped his tongue inside the gash, making Derek's body go rigid with his head thrown back and his jaw clamped closed.

"Stiles, stop!" Scott yelled, rushing over to the vampire and giving a full body push. He stumbled back some, his eyes now targeting Scott.

"Always the savior, huh Scott?" he hissed, flashing over to Scott and giving him a solid kick to the stomach.

This blow set Scott off his feet and he fell down. He wasn't down long though before he charged at Stiles again with a cross in his hand. Stiles dodged the metal and ducked under Scott to give him an elbow to the back. Scott once again collapsed in pain, the cross falling out of his hand.

Then Stiles was on top of him, flipping him onto his back and his face uncomfortably close to Scott's. "This what you wanted?" Stiles asked, his lips skimming Scott's ear. "Jealous?"

Scott's reply was lost as Stiles' teeth sunk into him harshly, this bite the roughest Stiles had ever done. The werewolf let out a shrill in pain as Stiles twisted his head and effectively tore Scott's neck. Stiles released just as rough as he had started and pulled back, standing.

"How's that for you then?" he hissed, kicking the wolf a few feet towards the door.

Scott's hands went to his neck, blood now spilling out in a large amount. He was curled into a fetal position, the pain taking his body.

Stiles returned to Derek, who had watched wide eyed from the couch. He had seemed to moved away from the fight, still gripping his side.

"Where do you think you're going?" Stiles smirked, pouncing on the alpha, straddling him.

"Stiles, it's Derek," the wolf pleaded, grunting in pain at the pressure on top of him.

"And Derek likes this, remember?" Stiles teased, then his voice dropped, "And as I recall, you said," he put his lips to the wolf's ear, "you loved it when I talked dirty to you."

He ran his hand down the alpha's chest, then covered his wound, cupping it. "Stiles," Derek seemed to be warning him, but he did nothing to stop the vampire.

"Yes?"

"Don't."

Stiles pouted, "Don't what? I'm not even doing anything. Unless," he raised an eyebrow, and applied pressure to Derek's gash, "you like that sort of thing."

Derek's eyes shut, "Stiles," his jaw closed at the pain.

"Yes, Derek?" He asked, keeping his hand in place.

"Stop it," he whispered, "it hurts. You're hurting me."

Stiles hummed. "So the Sourwolf expresses more than just anger," he smirked, "I'm hurting you, am I?" he hissed, his eyes digging into Derek's closed lids as he pushed harder on the wound.

"Yes," Derek said, eyes opening and his voice hardening, "Yes, Stiles, you're hurting me."

"Oh, poor you," he purred, taunting the wolf as he leaned in.

Derek felt Stiles' breath on his chin, smelling of blood― both his and Scott's. "Yes," Derek gritted, "Poor me."

A burning pain erupted on Stiles' neck and he leapt right off Derek, falling back onto the hard coffee table. He gasped in pain, his hand feeling the cross shaped burn imprinted there.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Stiles hissed, his lips pulled back showing his fangs in full view.

Derek held the cross out from his chest. The cross must have been the one Scott dropped and Derek had gotten his hands on.

Stiles' head suddenly focused on the door then, hearing Deaton approach. This moment of distraction allowed Derek to take a stab at Stiles, with his silver knife. Stiles yelled, the knife digging into his thigh, the closest thing to Derek. From there, Derek stood up and started throwing punches as Stiles withered, his hands holding onto the blade where it sunk into his flesh.

"Derek!" The door had sung open, revealing Deaton.

The Druid quickly took in the situation: Scott writhing on the floor in front of him, blood seeping through his fingers; Stiles laying on the coffee table, hands around a knife in his thigh; Derek beating the everliving shit out of Stiles with his own wounds bleeding.

"Stop!" Deaton said, rushing to the pair, "Derek, stop."

The wolf kept punching, even as Deaton placed a hand on his shoulder. His punches got slower as his body weakened. The Lamia was already knocked out clean, his face bloody and his body relaxed.

"Derek," Deaton said softer, hand still on the alpha.

The punches died out and Derek fell back, right into the couch.

"Help Scott," Derek said, "he needs it more than I do."

Deaton looked to Scott, realizing Derek was right. It seemed as though the wolf's main artery had been cut and his neck's flesh was ripped. The Druid made his way to the boy.

"Let me look," he said, but as his fingers touched Scott's the boy cried out and moved away. He looked to Derek, "Call your pack."

* * *

 

Pain was what Stiles woke to. The burning pain in his wrists and ankles. He was in a chair, hands tied behind him and legs tied together. It must have been rope soaked in water with vervain, Stiles decided, that why it hurt so much.

It was also light outside, that would explain why he had the world's greatest headache as he tried to look over at his friends, whom stood in the center of the loft, in direct beams of light. He could make out a little of what they were saying, his ears were ringing and his senses hadn't kicked in yet.

An ache in his nose told him Derek had definitely broken it when he was punching him, but it had probably healed by now. Stiles suddenly froze at the thought, remembering why exactly he had gotten his ass handed to him by Derek.

Oh fuck, he nearly ripped Scott's neck out. And he hurt Derek. Shit, the karma on this will be terrible.

His teeth also ached and the taste of Derek and Scott was left there, making him feel guilty. And he knew he deserved that guilt. Why the fuck couldn't he have just stayed in control and not went all vampire on the two of them?

He was monster. He couldn't even stop when he was about to kill his friends. If Scott had provoked him more, would his best friend still even be alive? And what of Derek? What did he think of him now that he said and did some pretty fucked up stuff to him? Oh God, that was in front of Scott too. Would Scott think Stiles was even more fucked up than he was? Would they understand that that part of him wasn't really him?

But it was, a voice in the back of his head told him. It was him. Everything he does― in control or not― is a part of him. They are his choices and he will have to bare the consequences of those choices. Actually, not just him. Derek and Scott suffered too. They shared his consequences and paid for it with pain and suffering. They didn't deserve to feel that shit from him.

He wasn't suppose to be like this. He was suppose to be the human best friend, sidekick to the real action as he stood rooting for them on the sidelines as they took on their next threat. He wasn't suppose to be their next threat. He wasn't suppose to be a Lamia― a vampire. He wasn't suppose to be this fucked up inside. This wasn't him.

"It's not me," he hissed.

"Stiles?"

His head shot up, eyes locking on Lydia who stood a little ways away from him. Everyone was there. The whole pack, watching him.

He caught sight of Derek, on the couch asleep, his shirt off and bandages on his torso. The wounds on his face had healed as well as the bite on his neck. Scott was on the other couch, also asleep. He had quite the bandage on his neck and dried blood down the front of his shirt. Stiles swallowed, eyes watering at the memory. He was a monster. This wasn't him.

"Stiles," Lydia's drew him back to her, "What was that?" She seemed to be searching his eyes for some kind of answer but he didn't have one.

"It's not me," he whispered, his vision blurred, tears gathering in his eyes. "I don't― I'm not..." He glanced at Derek and Scott again, shaking his head as the tears overflowed. "This isn't me. I'm a monster. It's disgusting. I'm disgusting, feeding off blood and almost killing my..." He trailed off, not know what to call Scott and Derek. Would Derek still want him? He sure as hell didn't want himself. And would Scott still be his best friend? Had he ruined it?

"Stiles, it's okay, it's okay now―"

"No!" He shouted, the silence letting it echo a little. "It's not okay, Lydia! I feed off of fucking blood to live!" He realized something right then, "And if it's like that, I don't want to live! I won't live like that! I won't!"

Nobody seemed to have any words.

He was breathing heavily, his emotions berserk and his eyes clearing.

"Do you know why Derek came back the way he did?" Deaton asked, coming forward.

Stiles shook his head, his eyes falling. "I don't know. He'd been going out a few times and had Scott stay here."

"Yes, he told us this."

"He said he was going after a pack, they were coming into town or something," Stiles explained. "He told me he had taken care of it, then last night he said he was leaving again. When he came back, he was injured and Scott said he wasn't healing."

"Is that when you called me?"

Stiles swallowed, "I think. He had just come in and fell on the couch and Scott was immediately there. I... I couldn't focus. I... there was so much blood. He smelt so good. His blood is so sweet." Stiles shook his head, not looking up to see what the other's reactions were. "Uh, then Scott was yelling at me, telling me to call you."

"And you did."

Stiles nodded.

"Then what happened?"

"I lost control," Stiles whispered, "I... I couldn't do anything but just... just smell him. He was there, bleeding out and I could think was how nice it would be if I could sink my teeth into him and..." He trailed off, shaking his head again.

"Stiles, I need you to keep going."

"I shoved Scott away and dug my fangs in like the fucking monster I am," Stiles hissed. "And Derek he tried to push me off and I... I didn't. Stop. I couldn't stop." He dazed off as he recalled the memory. "Then Scott was telling me stop and pushing me off so I attacked him." He closed his eyes, tipping his head back, "Oh fuck, the things I said to him." More tears swarmed in his vision.

"What else happened?"

"I..." He exhaled harshly, sniffing as the tears ran down the side of his face. He pulled his head down again, "I... I hurt Derek. I... fuck I'm so fucked up...."

"Stiles, what did you do? I need to know what happened? Did you touch his wound?"

"Yes," Stiles cried, tears pouring over. "Yes, I fucking touched his wound."

"What... um... what did you touch him with?" Lydia asked.

He closed his eyes, "I licked it." He was so disgusted with himself, "and I fucking pushed on it. Oh fuck the things I said..."

"What did you say?" Lydia asked.

Deaton cut in, "It doesn't matter. Can you keep going?"

Stiles nodded, "He touched the cross to my neck and then stabbed me in the leg... and he started beating the living shit outta me. Like I deserve."

Lydia disagreed, "Stiles, you don't de―"

"You weren't there," Stiles whispered, "I fucking deserved it. God, I'm so fucked up."

"Is that it?" Deaton asked, "did you do anything else?"

"Yeah, I'm done," he told the druid.

Deaton nodded, "I think you licking the wound actually helped the healing process."

Stiles' head snapped up, "What?"

"He was healing, unlike Scott assessed. He was just healing slow," Deaton explained, "without your salvia, I think he might have bled out."

"Oh," was all he could say.

"If you remember anything else, we need to know."

"Okay," Stiles said quietly.

"Erica and Jackson will be here." He nodded, "Derek and Scott will be moved to Scott's to heal."

"Your dad has been informed on what happened," Lydia told him.

He nodded numbly. That's right. He was suppose to stay in control and learn control so he could see his dad. His dad who probably thought he was a monster. Either that, or didn't know just how much of a monster he was.

He couldn't help the nagging feeling in the back of his mind though.

It wasn't me.


	5. Chapter 5

It was two days later when Derek finally returned. Stiles had been quiet, not talking to Erica or Jackson the entire time. They had released his bindings, but still kept a very close eye on him. He had been informed by the two of them that Derek would return and take his place watching him again― Erica and Jackson still had to go to school and Derek was the only one who could watch him.

And he needed to be watched. He needed to learn control. He needed it.

When Derek did return, Stiles could feel his eyes on him, watching him. Stiles never looked back, never returned that curious stare.

He couldn't.

He felt so bad about what had happened. He knew he had betrayed Derek and Scott and he knew he wasn't safe to be around blood anymore. Not just blood― to be around Derek. His solution? Not looking at the alpha.

And it worked, for the first two days of Derek's return.

Then, when he was throwing away one of his blood packets, Derek spoke: "It wasn't your fault."

Stiles didn't look, he trained his eyes to look at the floor with his back turned to Derek.

"You lost control," continued Derek, "now you need to stay in control." Stiles didn't speak, "It's in the past, all you can do now is move forward."

Stiles didn't respond, and the wolf seemed to sense that he wasn't going to, so he let it dropped and returned to the couch with his laptop.

Stiles stayed there for a few minutes, contemplating what Derek had said. It wasn't his fault, but it sure felt like his fault. He had so many questions. Where was Derek that night? Why had he even returned all banged up like that? How had Stiles healed Derek?

It seemed impossible. Everything in his life now seemed impossible. He was a fucking vampire for crying out loud, there was no way to go back to how things were. He had almost killed Scott and he was uncontrollable around Derek's blood like some kind of addict.

He swallowed hard, his thoughts taking his mind. He needed time. Time he didn't have. Everyone wanted him to learn control over his bloodlust but what they didn't understand is that it wasn't that easy. It wasn't easy. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done. Blood was like a calling, like a cup of water for a parched man. He felt that with every taste of blood, he felt happy, it made him happy. He didn't want to give up that happiness. Because when he wasn't happy, there was that burning hunger in the pit of his stomach and that painful pull in teeth.

And it took everything he had not to give in.

* * *

 

"Scott and Erica will be here soon," Derek said, typing on his laptop. Stiles froze, not looking at the wolf but not ignoring him. "They might stay for longer if I'm not fit to come back here."

Stiles swallowed, not fit to come back here meant if he was covered in blood.

He wanted to ask Derek where he was going but he couldn't find it in himself to do so. He was so afraid of what would happen. He was afraid he would lose control. He was terrified of himself.

What if he stopped drinking blood though? What if he just stopped?

The idea made him curious. Would his body starve? But he couldn't die that way. Would be fall into a coma? Maybe that was for the best, if he just fell asleep and never woke up. His last blood bag had been a few hours ago when Derek finally spoke to him. From the looks of things, it was about midnight. What if he went without blood for a few nights? Would it really hurt to try?

Derek stood then and Stiles' attention returned to his book. He was on his bed, facing away from Derek. He could hear Scott and Erica making there way towards the door. He heard Derek slip on his leather jacket and close his laptop.

A knock on the door signalled Scott and Erica's arrival and Stiles dreaded them coming into the room. Immediately, he felt Scott's gaze as Erica and Derek exchanged a few words.

He heard the door close and Scott was sitting on the couch, Erica making her way there.

"Stiles?" Scott asked hesitantly.

He wouldn't say anything. He wouldn't.

A few seconds rolled by, Stiles unmoved from his place on his bed. Erica was in the kitchen, digging around for some food. He could feel Scott watching him.

"I know you're awake," said Scott, trying to draw something out of Stiles.

The only thing he was drawing out of him though, was memories of his violent encounter with Scott. Memories he wished he could forget.

"Come on, man, talk to me."

Stiles bit his lip. Of course he wanted to talk, he just couldn't. He couldn't find the words to apologize. And he was afraid. That fear kept him from talking, looking, or even breathing in Scott's direction.

"Ah, let him be," Erica said, bringing over what Stiles assumed was a sandwich, judging by the smell. God, how he missed food. "He just pouting."

Stiles' fingers gripped the book tightly. He was not pouting. He was protecting them, he couldn't lose control. Not again.

"Okay then," Erica sarcastically said. Had he said that out loud? He hadn't meant to. "If you're not pouting, are you wallowing?"

Stiles exhaled through his teeth, now he was mad. She didn't understand how much he was struggling right now. She would never understand his struggle of control. Every living thing he saw, he wanted to suck the blood out of.

"Erica." Scott said, as if warning her.

She scoffed, "Fine, I'll leave it."

Stiles heard Scott mumble thankful words to Erica.

They sat there for a few minutes as Erica chowed on her sandwich and Scott continued to burn a hole in the back of Stiles' head with his constant stare. He couldn't focus on the words on the pages, he couldn't. Not when his best friend― or former best friend for all he knew― was glaring at him. He knew he deserved it but this was just uncomfortable for everyone.

"Stop," he said. He felt like crying, tear were already collecting in his eyes. And hell, he felt like everything. He was scared and guilty and angry. There were so many emotions filling him, he felt like he was gonna pop, and not in a good way.

"We're not doing anything," Erica said, her mouth full of food.

Stiles felt Scott relax in someway and he sensed remorse and pity coming from him as his eyes finally averted themselves from him. He himself relaxed too feeling better now that he wasn't being watched. Erica seemed to be emitting waves of confusion and awkwardness. No, not just her, the whole room seemed to be heavy with awkwardness and some sort of confusion.

"Stiles..." Scott tried again, "please talk to me."

A tear slid down his cheek. He was a danger to everyone. He was a monster. An uncontrolled monster. He dropped his book, curling his body into a tighter ball, "I'm sorry," whispered Stiles, his voice barely audible to himself. He doubted that Scott even heard him and a part of him wasn't going to repeat himself to them.

He heard the room still as Erica stopped chewing and Scott's heartbeat spiked a little. Then his best friend was crossing the room and had his arms wrapped around him, hugging Stiles. More tears spilt and he pulled Scott's arm close to his chest, letting out shaky breaths and quiet sobs.

"It's okay, Stiles," Scott comforted, "I forgive you." And he kept repeating those words, letting Stiles cry. “I forgive you, Stiles. I forgive you.”

"I don't forgive myself though," whispered Stiles, harshly.

Scott's hold on him tightened, "That's okay, it will take time.” Scott’s breath warmed the back of neck. “But I need you to know that I forgive you." His voice was caught and all Stiles could do was nod sharply once in understanding. 

Of course Scott would forgive him. The next step was forgiving himself, he already understood that the situation was out of control. And just like that he was at square one again, learning control. It felt like he had actually gotten some of his control and the recent events just pushed him back.

Back to the beginning, he thought bitterly.

* * *

 

It came to him in his sleep. The voice of his attacker, that is, the Lamia who had turned him.

_ "Open up." _

He twisted in his sleep, remembering that night. The pain, the blood, his voice. It was like a calling. Just as the blood was a calling. That voice. The Lamia's voice.

_ "Now swallow." _ The taste of blood was bitter and disgusting then, but now he would eagerly suck some down. Now it tasted good, now he was a monster.

_ "You come find me when you're done," _ it said, it's voice cruel and taunting.

When you're done? What the hell did that even mean? Done with what? Transforming? Becoming a vampire?

It whispered the words again, almost like a chant or spell. It did the trick though, he woke up with his eyes wide and his skin crawling with a sense of incompleteness.

How long had it been? Three months since he was turned? Why now?

Stiles' eyes landed on Erica and Scott. They had each taken a couch, fast asleep. That would make sense― it was in the early hours of the morning― seven or eight o'clock― and the sun's early morning light was filtering in through the windows, lighting the room.

He stood up tentatively, careful to stay quiet. His mouth was dry and the sound of the two werewolves' heartbeats made him momentarily stop before he remembered that he had promised to not drink blood. It was his little experiment.

He followed the perimeter of room on his side up until where the sunlight reached. He figured he could make it to the door without getting terribly burned. He pulled up his hood and made sure his pants and shoes covered him, then he ran as fast as he could out the door.

In the hallway, outside Derek's loft, there was no light except for the artificial bulbs hanging from the ceiling. His hands were the only thing that got burnt on his way out the door, only a slight burn that was already healing.

He made his way out of the building and flashed his way into the shadows of alleyways and sidewalks. With his speed and his lack of show of skin, he only received burns on his hands when he used them. Other than that, they were kept shoved in his pockets, free from the light.

* * *

 

It was a quarter to ten when Stiles' phone started to ring. The first call was from Scott. There were also a bunch of text messages along the lines of "where are you?", "come back", "don't do anything stupid", and "please call". He promptly ignored them all, even when Derek and the rest of the pack tried to contact him.

He wasn't sure where he was going. He was wandering around town, zooming here and there. He had discovered that his mind knew where he was going though because his body was following. He just had no clue as to where he was taking himself.

* * *

 

"He's not answering his phone," said Scott to Derek and the rest of the pack.

"No shit," Lydia said, frantically texting Stiles.

"Let's spread out," Derek said. "Check heavily populated areas― clubs, restaurants, stuff like that. He has a scent, use your noses."

Jackson's brow tightened, "But last time his scent was hard to follow because he was moving too fast."

"Figure it out," Derek growled, "we can't leave him out there."

"Yeah, we can't just leave him out there to go and slaughter everyone," Jackson mumbled.

"He's not like that," Scott said, "he just lost control."

"Yeah?" Jackson asked, taking a step forward, "what's stopping him from losing control now?"

Derek's growl was heard, low and threatening. Jackson backed down immediately, but that didn't stop him from glaring. "I'm not worried about other people," Derek hissed, "I'm worried about the vampire hunters who are in town."

They stared at Derek.

"Vampire hunters?" Lydia squeaked.

Scott's face contorted, filling in the pieces, "That's where you've been." Derek nodded. "You've been trying to get them away from here."

"You lied to us," said Isaac.

"There is a new pack in the area," Derek defended, glaring at them, "it's a vampire pack, and with them are vampire hunters hot on their tail."

* * *

 

Stiles closed his eyes, forcing the whispering words of torment out of his mind. His fangs ached and the sun was brightening in the sky. His feet carried him through the back roads, avoiding the sun and the city people. He found himself in town, going on the outskirts.

The heavy weight of urgency shook him to the core. He needed to do something.

Stiles tripped, falling on the cement with his hands holding his head. Pain spread there like wildfire, yelling at him to keep going. He was lusting blood. It had been too long since he fed last and he was feeling sick, and slightly dizzy. The sun didn't help.

He was miserable and lost and confused and he just wanted to curl up in a ball and never wake up. But alas, he put his feet underneath him and heaved himself up. The alley his was in was tight and the sun's direct rays were hidden.

* * *

 

Stiles reached a big warehouse around noon. As soon as he'd laid eyes on it, relief flooded his system and he knew he'd reached his destination.

It wasn't everyday he got to meet other vampires.

He figured it out of course. What those words meant. They wanted him, he realized. They turned him for a reason, one he would find out today. He was important. He meant something.

A sense of acceptance hit him suddenly. These people needed him. These people were like him. They knew what was happening to him. They had been through it. And most of all, they could help.

He took a few steps forward, the gravel of the road crunching beneath his shoes. Stiles reached out, ready to knock on the door, but he hesitated. What if they weren't good vampires? The thought crossed his mind but he knew that they already knew he was here. There was no going back.

His knuckled wrapped at the door. A few seconds went by before it opened wide. A dark skinned man was there, a smirk on his face and the smell of blood surrounding him.

"Stiles," he stated. "Come in."

* * *

 

Stiles swallowed tightly. It felt like all the air in his body was sucked out of him. His throat was dry and he felt so nervous. As soon as he had stepped into the warehouse, he'd been pushed into part of a circle of Lamia, all of them watching him. Talk about creepy.

A fire was burning hot in the center of their circle and the smoke disappeared into the ceiling of the warehouse. Stiles coughed, not used to the dusty and smoky room.

"If we're all vampires, why in God's name are we awake right now?" Stiles wheezed, blinking the dryness out of his eyes.

"We have a ceremony to perform, Stiles," the man who'd greeted him at the door said.

Stiles gave a weak laugh, "Yes, of course." When nobody said anything more, he looked around, raising his eyebrows, "So what is the ceremony?"

"Your induction ceremony."

His eyes widely slightly, "Oh you want me to be part of your little pack?"

The man's eyes narrowed, "Is that a problem?"

"We'll, uh, you see, I have my own pack." Stiles laughed nervously, "But they're werewolves though and I don't think I can really be―"

"Stiles, you're a vampire now, that makes werewolves your enemy."

Stiles pursed his lip, "See, I think you have that wrong because, correct me if I'm wrong, my best friend and lover are werewolves.” Stiles stopped, “Wait, is he really my  _ lover  _ though? What would you call that? Is he my boyfriend? Oh my god, Derek is my boyfriend. I wonder if he knows that―"

"Stiles!"

Stiles' head snapped up, his body locking up.

"We don't have time for this. Those people, those  _ werewolves _ , are no longer your pack."

"But―"

"Is that clear?"

"No, because―"

"Glad we're on the same page," the man growled, taking a step forward. It was then that Stiles recognized him, it was in his eyes. That man, that vampire, was the one who turned him.

"It's you," Stiles whispered, blocking out the man's words. "You're, you're the one―" Stiles wanted to cry. This was the person, the monster, who turned his life upside down. To hell with feeling accepted, what was Stiles thinking. This man was a killer, he was the whole reason Stiles was suffering.

"Listen to me!"

Stiles looked up, pulled from his thoughts. "No."

And just like that the tension in the room shifted. The man's expression went from anger and annoyance to a hard, mean look. Stiles glared.

"I will not listen to you," he said in a fierce whisper. "You have ruined my life. I was supposed to be the sidekick, the nerdy human to the supernatural best friend. I was supposed to be the normal teenager. I will not join your pack. I will not be your follower. I have a pack. They love me and they need me and I will be there for them―"

"Please, you were nothing before I turned you," the man spat. "They only keep you around for comic relief. When was the last time you really helped them? Since when have they needed you?"

Stiles swallowed, his throat tight. "I may not be the best, but I'm willing to do anything for them and that is what matters."

The man laughed. "But will they do anything for you?"

* * *

 

Stiles wasn't stressing. No, why would he be? It wasn't like he was being forced into this vampire pack or anything that happened to be a forever irreversible deal. No. He was just fine.

The vampire that had turned him, he figured out, was named Gracen. And he was an absolute dick. Granted, he was the leader of the vampire’s pack, but that didn’t mean he could be a jerk to everyone just because he “made them into who they are” by turning them into vampires.

“Why did you choose me?” Stiles asked, looking over at Gracen.

The older vampire narrowed his eyes at Stiles. “You have connections.”

“Oh, so this was all just a ploy to eliminate my pack?” Stiles crossed his arms, “Nice try but we’re much better than this weak group of vamps here.”

Gracen didn’t say anything for a second and another vampire came up to Stiles, away from the group by the fire. She scoffed, smirking a little, “Stiles, haven’t you noticed how much stronger you are than those  _ werewolves _ ?”

He looked to this new character. Her long dark hair gave her an intriguing look but the darkness in her eyes made Stiles feel uneasy. It reminded him of himself, he realized.

Unfortunately, he did understand what she was saying and he couldn’t help but think about her words. He had taken on Scott and Derek, though he wasn’t sure that really counted given that the latter had been gravely injured. But Stiles couldn’t get past the fact that he was, in fact, much faster and stronger than the werewolves. The  _ alpha _ werewolves at that.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Stiles argued, swallowing the lump in his throat. “My pack can get us out of everything. We fought things so much bigger than you guys.”

“Really, Stiles?” The vampire raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t stand a chance against a  _ true _ Lamia, much less an entire pack of them.”

Stiles glared at her. “I don’t remember where I asked for your input.”

She laughed. “I like this one,” she told Gracen.

“Enough,” Gracen said, dismissing the two of them. 

He turned to the people huddled around the fire. “Friends!” he bellowed, addressing the crowd of bloodsuckers. “Family! Pack! Today we welcome a new member: Stiles!”

There was an uproar of cheering as everyone rejoiced at their leader’s words.

“Now, come forward, Stiles,” Gracen motioned for Stiles to stand beside him. When he didn’t move, he was pushed violently forward by a pair of forceful hands. “Right here,” he centered the young Lamia in front of the group. His hands made Stiles want to vomit. Though he wasn’t sure if that feeling was coming from not having blood since― was it yesterday? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was everything that was happening right now that made his body want to bend over and retch.

“Stiles here, however, is unwilling!” The crowd booed. “He believes that his  _ werewolf _ pack is better and that they will come save him!” More disapproval. “So how are we to convince his heart?”

“Show him!” The chorused the vampires.

Stiles’s nonexistent heartbeat sped up.

“Show him what?!” Gracen asked, a smile upon his face.

“Fun!”

Before Stiles could even figure out what was happening, he was being drug backwards from where he was standing and pinned to a table. He tried to struggle against the hands, but there was more than just two now. There were four vampires holding him down, one on each limb.

“Hey!” he shouted, “Get off me! Let me go!”

Nobody listened as the pack cheered at him.

“Stiles, are you ready?” Lea asked, suddenly standing behind him, at his head.

“Ready for what?” he hissed, “When are you guys going to explain anything to me?”

“Always the one to ask questions, huh Stiles?” Gracen snarked, coming into his view. “Bring them in!”

Stiles couldn’t see what was happening but he could definitely smell the scent of humans filtering into the room. His stomach dropped as he got a feeling about what would be happening. They wouldn’t kill the humans, would they? That’s not what they meant by fun, was it?

He focused on their heartbeats, hearing how they were so calm. That was strange, he noted. There was also four of them, humans that is. Four. He closed his eyes, suddening mourning their impending deaths. None of this felt right.

“Listen to them, Stiles,” Gracen whispered, his breath blowing on Stiles’s ear, making him shiver. “Listen to the delicious blood beating through their bodies.”

Stiles screwed his eyes shut, wishing away the feelings of his bloodlust. 

“You can’t fight it, Stiles, so own it.”

It chipped away at his self-control. He knew what Gracen was doing. He wanted to believe more than anything that he could fight against this terrible, nature instinct. He wanted to believe that it was just a mind game, that it could be beat with strict control and hard work.

Gracen, however, fed the part of him that knew that it was a matter of biological make-up and supernatural doing. It was not just self-control. It was not solely an idea or a craving you can push out of your head.

“If it hurts, let it in, and it will stop hurting,” Gracen coaxed. “It’s okay to want to feed, Stiles. It’s who you are.”

He heard the sound of a neck a snapping, flowed by the loss of a heartbeat.

“Your first will be killed for you,” Gracen explained.

And suddenly there is a body being held over him and the smell of blood hit him harshly.

“Feed, my boy.”

Stiles lost the capacity to think. His fangs were out and his vision went red as he was suddenly given full access to a large meal. If you could even call it that. It was more like the world’s best dessert that he wanted to keep drinking because if he stopped, the urge would come back and he would feel miserable again. Stiles hated feeling miserable.

He had drained the body of the human in less than a minute. To hell with his no blood diet.

“Your second you will kill.”

Stiles didn’t know what that meant. The dead human was gone and he was allowed to sit up. His judgement was clouded heavily by the burning sensation on his tongue. Another human, this time alive, was placed in front of him. Perfectly calm. It was strange how they stayed like that. Perhaps something had been done to them.

Stiles stood to match this one’s height. He didn’t look at them before his teeth dug roughly into their neck. By the time he registered they had a heartbeat, it was slowing and then suddenly it stopped. A few seconds later the body was drained and he pulled back, letting the body fall to the ground.

“Your third will be afraid,” Gracen whispered, his lips pressed to Stiles’s ear. There were no shivers that ran down his back this time.

His body was filled with excitement and adrenaline. 

Another was placed in front of him.

“You are not to move,” Gracen said. Though he was not talking to Stiles, he was talking to the human. It was still alive.

It was afraid, Stiles noticed. It was not calm like the others had been. It was scared. It’s heart was beating rapidly and Stiles smiled. This was fun, he thought drunkenly as pushed back the human’s hair and tasted more of his sweet, sweet dessert.

The human put it’s hands on his shoulders, lightly, almost as if it was stabilizing itself. It made sense. Stiles understood why stabilization was needed. He could feel the pulse of it weakening and the muscles tensing up, like it wanted to pull away but it couldn’t.

Then it was over and it was falling to floor.

Stiles sat back on the table, tilting his head back. He felt so alive yet disconnected. It was empowering. He felt like he was free, like he was allowed to feel everything.

A hand fell on his shoulder and he found it to be Gracen’s, “Your fourth and final one will fight.”

Stiles didn’t know what that meant again. It did not matter though.

He focused on his target. The human was struggling, being held back by a pair of the Lamia. It was crying, in total distress. He felt no empathy for the fear-filled creature in front of him. He could only smell the blissful blood pumping under it’s skin, quick red energy.

“Fight him,” Gracen told it, pointing to Stiles and handing it a knife. “If you lose, you die.”

Then the vampires released the human and it was charging at him. Stiles ducked out of the way of the first swing. He blocked and avoided the first couple hits before Gracen growled at them.

“Quite playing, Stiles!”

Stiles took the words and caught the human on the next blow, his hand wrapping around its wrist and forced it to drop the knife. It clattered to the ground but Stiles payed it no mind.

“Please,” the human whimpered, but Stiles’s mind was only drawn to the pumping blood.

“You smell so good,” Stiles whispered, taking ahold of the human’s neck.

Then he was applying pressure, the bones of the human crackling beneath his grip. And the human fell limply against him. He held it up with little effort as his lips met the hot skin of the once terrified human. The blood was always a treat.

When it too was drained, Stiles dropped it and it thudded at his feet.

“Well done, Stiles,” Gracen applauded. “Now I hope you can do the same to your own pack.”

Stiles smirked and wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve, blood smearing across his face. “Only if it will be fun.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you like to cry? I don't, but I do it everyday, so why not just add something more to cry about?

Stiles had passed out sometime thereafter. When he came back, however, his bloodlust was gone and he felt a deep feeling of unrest inside him. Fuzzy memories of coming into the warehouse started to feed into his mind then.

Sitting up from his place on a table, Stiles looked around. The vampires were still there. 

_ So that had happened _ , he thought to himself, trying to  _ feel _ something towards his previous activities. He couldn’t. Why couldn’t he feel something?  _ Anything _ , he pleaded with his mind.  _ You’re supposed to feel guilty right now _ , he told himself.  _ You killed four people, that’s not normal _ . But it was like a piece of him had been chipped away. _ It was fun _ , Stiles remembered, an actual smile coming to his face.

“How are you, Stiles?” Gracen asked, coming to stand beside the table Stiles was sat up on.

“Fine.”  _ You hate this guy, remember? _ he told himself,  _ He made you into this  _ thing  _ that you are _ . “I feel great actually.”

“Wonderful,” Gracen said, a fanged smile appearing on his face. “I’m glad you’re adjusting well to these new,” he looked around, “arrangements. Though don’t worry, it won’t be forever. We’ll be finding a more permanent place shortly.”

Stiles smiled at the thought of leaving Beacon Hills.  _ About damn time _ , he mused.

* * *

 

“There!” Scott shouted, pointing to a place on the map.

Lydia groaned. “Scott, it doesn’t work like that! We don’t know anything―”

“I think it’s worth a shot,” Derek said from behind her. His breath was almost touching her hair; he was standing so close to the banshee.

Lydia grumbled something incoherent under her breath and pushed the two alpha aside. “Fine,” she told them, heading for the door. “We’ll split up. Derek, Isaac, you’re with me. Scott go with Erica and check that farm property.”

* * *

 

“This is useless,” Isaac said, as they walked back to the car from the second empty building they’d checked.

“There’s one more place,” Lydia told him, opening the car door. “Let’s check there. If that doesn’t work we can… I don’t know, do a summoning spell or something…?”

“I’m tired of guessing,” Derek hissed, “One more before we’re calling Deaton.”

* * *

 

“Stiles?”

“Hmm?” he asked, not looking up from his phone.

“What are you doing?” Gracen asked, his voice light, but his tone authoritative.

Stiles glanced up at the pack leader. “Looking at memes,” he said nonchalantly, turning his phone briefly to show his screen to the older man whom gave him a strange look in turn. “Why do you ask?”

“Just making sure… you’re feeling like yourself.” He seemed to choose his words wisely as if he was afraid he might misstep and lose something valuable.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles replied, “just a little bored is all.”

“Of course,” Gracen said, putting on a smile. “You must be used to so much more excitement. Don’t worry, we’re just resting up for now.” He paused, “In fact, I was wondering if you would like to help my team and I put together some plans?”

Stiles shrugged, stuffing his phone in his back pocket. “Sure, why not?”

* * *

 

Stiles wasn’t really expecting it. He imagined he would always feel this way and had quickly accepted the new feelings he was experiencing. But this was different. This was very different. The wave of hunger hit him much harder than they had in the past and the funny thing was, was that it occurred in the same moment that he saw a bloodstained Derek Hale being pounced on by a group of his new pack of vampires. Did he even know their names?

Recognition. That was the word. He had a lot of recognition when he saw the alpha werewolf,  _ Derek _ , but that was it. He recognized it, watched it for a few seconds, before his mind wandered off to some other detail, as it often did.

“You know,” Gracen stood next to him as the two of them watched the alpha get pounded and fought from all sides. “When I first saw you feed with us, I thought I knew your style.”

“And?” Stiles questioned, picking dried blood from under his blunt nails.

“And now that you’ve settled,” Gracen observed, “I see that you’re much more of a spectator than an action-taker.”

Stiles hummed, his eyes flickering to the fight occuring in front of them. The alpha had been thrown to the ground by a pair of older vamps while a younger one jumped on top of it, feeding on it briefly. Something stirred in Stiles’ stomach, but he couldn’t quite place the feeling.

“Is that right?” Stiles asked, “Can’t I be both?”

He made his way to the edge of the fight, watching as the vampires teased their prey. The werewolf’s eyes caught his momentarily and he saw something flash behind them, but Stiles wasn’t sure what was trying to be communicated.

“Okay,” Stiles said, making his presence known to his pack. They pulled back, letting the alpha get to its feet. Blood covered its face, dripping onto its clothes and soiling the material. There were no big wounds, however, and it appeared to be healing quickly.

“Stiles,” the alpha growled, it’s voice a mix of pleading and dominance. “You need―”

“I’m not sure what it is expecting me to do,” Stiles smirked, earning a few laughs from his pack. “But that’s okay, I don’t care what it wants.”

Stiles took a few steps forward, eyes red as he singled out his target.

“Finish him, Stiles,” Gracen told him.

His smile widened at this as he was instructed to do what he had already planned on doing. He raised his hand, and he could see the werewolf watching his every action carefully. He placed his hand on it’s shoulder before slowly sliding it around to the back of it’s neck. He could feel the alpha’s muscles shiver beneath his touch.

“It can’t hide the fear,” Stiles mused. “That’s my favorite part,” he whispered, glancing back briefly at Gracen.

He leaned into the werewolf and sucked in a breath through his nose, reveling in the smells given off by his next meal. It didn’t move when he put his lips to it’s neck. Nor did it flinch when he took a bite of it. As blood flowed easily into his mouth, something stirred terribly in Stiles’ mind. He tried to push it back, in an attempt to ease his own doubt, but it came back to him millisecond after millisecond.  _ I should feel something _ , Stiles thought to himself,  _ that’s why it looks at me strangely _ .

He pulled back, after one swallow and looked it in its eyes. He narrowed his own, as if that would reveal something he could not see. The wolf did nothing as he glared at it. What was happening?

“It means nothing,” Stiles hissed, trying to convince himself more than the other vampire’s surrounding him. “It is nothing. It is just a meal.”

“Yes,” Gracen drawled, “Stiles, we have established this. Now finish him.”

“ _ Him _ ?” Stiles suddenly inquired, eyebrows drawing together as he continued to study the werewolf in front of him.

“ _ Yes _ ,” Gracen said, annoyance coming out in his tone. “ _ Him _ .  _ It _ . Whatever you want to call him.”

“Him,” Stiles murmured under his breath, as if rediscovering the word from a new perspective. He looked back at Gracen. “Yes, but why…  _ him _ ?”

Gracen waved his hands around, shrugging. “Stiles, I don’t know. He found us. He wanted to attack us. He threatened us. There’s two more outside who think we aren’t aware of them.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to come home, Stiles,” the alpha said, drawing the Lamia’s attention back to the prey in front of him.

“I don’t  _ know _ you,” Stiles growled, angry because he does know it. No,  _ him _ . He does know him.

“Yes, you do, Stiles, it’s me,” said the wolf, “Derek.”

“It think it knows me.”

“ _ I _ think you know me,” it corrected.

Stiles curled his lips, showing his fangs. “It knows nothing.”

“I know you, Stiles,” it told him. “I know your dad, the Sheriff, and you best friend, Scott, and---”

“It know  _ nothing _ ,” he hissed.

_ It knows things _ , Stiles argued.  _ It know names and relationships, but that is all. It knows what has died. It does not know what lives on. _

“I know you think you’re a monster, but you’re not,” it continued. “You’re  _ Stiles _ , my friend, my…” trailed off, unsure of something.

Stiles grabbed it by the back of it’s neck, yanking the creature forward into him. “I. Am. Not. Yours,” he growled, gripping it tightly, earning a wince from the werewolf.

“No,” it said, its voice softer. “But I am yours, Stiles.”

A second went by as Stiles wasn’t sure what to do. His nose twitched with uncertainty before he bit harshly into the alpha’s neck, making it whimper as it was caught off guard. Blood pooled into his mouth, and again his mind was pushed with apprehensive thoughts and self-doubt. Something was wrong. Perhaps it was something in the wolf’s blood that made him fussy in the head.

It didn’t go very far, however, before suddenly pain erupted in his shoulder blade as something dug deep into his skin. A second later he heard the outcry of his pack and his own howl escaped his mouth when he detached from the werewolf.

“They found us!” he heard Gracen yell, and then there was chaos.

* * *

 

Stiles did not like pain. He’d figured this out as child at very beginning of his life. Though he also discovered that he could manage physical pain much better than he could emotional. Right now, however, that was not the case. There was a silver arrow lodged in the back of his shoulder, but it was not the main source of his discomfort.

As his  _ former _ pack had done, he was once again tied in vervain-laced rope, effectively keeping him in place and stilling his movements.

“ _ Great _ ,” Stiles said bitterly, rolling his eyes as he took in the typical basement cellar set-up. “God, no one has any original kidnapping ideas these days.”

“At least you’re still alive,” said a voice from behind him.

Stiles tried to turn his head to look over at the person behind him. “Oh hey! I recognize you, you’re part of Gracen’s pack!”

“Don’t you mean  _ our _ pack?” They drawled.

Stiles sighed, “Right, sorry.  _ Our _ pack.”

“Why do you say it like it’s something bad?”

He shrugged. “I dunno man, I just don’t really wanna commit to anything, you know. I wanna be able to do my own thing.”

“Yeah, well hang in there, newbie,” they advised, “you’ll get your freedom when you prove your loyalty. Though from what I saw at the ceremony, you’re doing an excellent job already.”

“Really?” Stiles seemed doubtful.

“Gracen’s really taken with you. You’re one of his strongest.”

Stiles hummed, thinking of the other’s words. “Where do you think we are?”

“Basement of some vampire hunter’s house.”

“You think?” Stiles asked, looking around at their surroundings. “How long are they gonna keep their guests waiting?”

The person behind him let out an exasperated sigh. “They’ve been down here twice since I’ve woken up.”

“What did they do?”

“Torture.” There was a pause. “To that guy.”

Stiles tried to see where the other was gesturing to. He ended up having to check the other side of him. There, in another chair, there was one of his pack members. There was a hole in his chest as if his heart was ripped out. Blood covered his face and body, but there were no visible marks indicating that they were his. But given that he was a vampire, it was easy to deduce that he’d been severely tortured and bled a lot.

“Man, what’d they do to him?” Stiles asked, a mixture of disgust and fascination.

“He’s dead.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Stiles said, wanting to roll his eyes. “What were they asking him? What did they want to know?”

“Where the leaders are.”

Stiles scoffed, “So they wanted Gracen?”

“No, they want the alpha of all alphas,” they explained.

“Let me guess,” Stiles mused, “that guy didn’t have the answer.”

“Really? What gave that away?”

* * *

 

The door in front of Stiles opened harshly. The bottom, made of metal, screeched across the cement flooring reminding him of someone dragging their nails over a chalkboard. Out came a pair of hunters.

“And the beast is awake!” the first one commented, a smug look plastering their face.

“Finally,” the second grumbled.

“Get on with it, what are we doing here?” Stiles asked, rolling his eyes.

“We’re just here to ask a few questions,” the first snarled, walking around Stiles, eyeing the person in the chair behind him.

“Enhanced interrogation,” Stiles nodded, “got it.”

“This one thinks he’s funny,” the second one mused.

“He is pretty funny,” Stiles heard the person behind him say. He then heard the sound of flesh burning along with the low painful growls of the other vampire in the room.

“Shut up,” the first hissed, and from what Stiles could tell, he was already making the vampire do just that.

“Now, Mister-I’m-so-Funny,” the second said, leaning forward with his hand on Stiles’ chair. “Where is the alpha?”

* * *

 

Four. Four days? Stiles lost count. There were two-hundred twelve tiles on the ceiling, one-hundred ninety-five boards along the wall (not including the seven broken ones in the corner that were probably damaged in a fight of some sort), and there were exactly five interrogators in this vampire hunting group who rotated torture sessions to a set schedule. For being the bad guys, they sure were organized with timing and shifts.

He didn’t know who the alpha of all alphas was. Had never met him. Never seen him. And honestly he didn’t care. Stiles could only just keep running the questioners in circles for so long. He could see how irritated they were becoming and he doubted he would last another day or so. The vampire behind him had lost his head only two days before.

“Nicky,” Stiles greeted as the door opened, “Nice to see you again, it’s been too long.”

“I’ll kill you this time I’ll swear,” it hissed, raising a silver knife.

Stiles scoffed, smiling cheekily, “Ah, you say that every time. Is that your way of saying ‘I love you’?”

The human took his loud mouth as annoying, and promptly dug its blade into Stiles’ gut. “I could never love a monster like you,” it growled, twisting the blade for the sake of Stiles’ discomfort.

Stiles curled, leaning into the pain, and contorting his face. “Oh, that’s okay, you’re not really my type anyways.”

“Yeah I suppose the only love you ever give is towards your next meal.”

“Come on, even humans are like that,” Stiles argued.

“You got some real nerve on you,” the human pulled the knife and gave a hard punch to Stiles’ face with silver knuckles.

Not expecting the blow, Stiles recoiled, pain flaring in two places as his mind jumbled in disorientation. His hands fisted tightly, reaching to grip anything, but only the metal chair met his cold fingers. A bucket of vervain water was suddenly slung atop of Stiles, giving no time for him to recover. His body was on fire; a shrill of pain escaped his lips, and he felt like a high concentration of hydrochloric acid had just been given access to eat at his flesh. The human was speaking again, but Stiles’ ears ran endlessly as pain enveloped his skin and sunk into his mind.

* * *

 

“Nice of you to come back to us, our fearless vamp,” Nicky sneered, watching as Stiles regained consciousness. “I didn’t know Lamia could pass out from pain. That’s cool, I guess.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, waiting silently for the day to pass on.

“What? No, sadistically sarcastic reply?”

“I use a lot of sardony, too, give me credit,” Stiles mumbled as he let his head fall back, almost in boredom.

“Where’s the alpha?” Nicky pressed, sobering up.

“I know a few. There’s those werewolf alphas: Derek and Scott. But Peter also used to be one. There’s also that one alpha pack that we encountered that―”

“The vampire alpha, you dumbass!”

Stiles laughed lowly, closing his eyes. When he didn’t stop, the human became frustrated, and banged on Stiles’ chair loudly.

“Answer me, monster! Unless you want another vat of vervain!”

Stiles opened his eyes and peered up at the human. “What are you doing with your life? Just go get a witch and do a locating spell. It’s not that hard. Or better yet, try Google. I did the majority of my supernatural research online, you just have to know the right places to look.”

“Don’t get smart with me―”

“Well someone has to, you’re wasting your time and energy on a vampire that doesn’t give a shit about your problems, except for the fact that they’re annoying.”

“You’re really pushing it, mister.”

“You act like I care if you kill me. I’ve been wanting that since the day I was turned.” As soon as the words were out of Stiles’ mouth, he realized how true they were, and how twisted his path had been since he left Derek’s apartment. _Derek. That werewolf. Huh._ Stiles paused, almost objectively replaying the last week in his head. _Weird_. He felt like an entirely different being. It was like seeing someone on television and recognizing them, but having no empathy or emotional attachment― both to his old self, this Derek, and all those werewolves.

“I guess there’s no point in keeping you around any longer then,” Nicky concluded, mischievously running it’s knife blade across Stiles’ bloodied chest and leaning down to his level.

“At the very least, make it successful, will you?” Stiles said.

“No, I don’t think I will kill you,” Nicky murmured in Stiles’ ear. “Do you know why? Because that would give you just what you want.”

Stiles, no longer listening to Nicky’s words however, was drawn to two very different realities. One, he had perfect access to the human’s neck, flooded with warm blood he hadn’t tasted in little over four days; and two, there was fight happening upstairs that the human probably had no clue about, given its actions.

_ How stupid _ , Stiles thought bitterly as he sunk his teeth roughly into the human’s soft flesh. It struggled for a mere second before Stiles had simply twerked his neck and silenced his meal indefinitely.

* * *

 

“I don’t suppose you’re in the mood for rescuing ex-pack members, are you?” Stiles asked, raising his eyebrows at his current situation.

Before him lay a drained dead vampire hunter, a silver knife still in hand, while Stiles sat comfortably in a metal chair, covered in blood (both his and others), with vervain ropes tied around his extremities, and a dark lopsided smile on his face.

“Guess it’s your lucky day,” a tall curly-haired werewolf told him. He knew its name. He knew it. What was its name? He shrugged it off, it was not important to him.

* * *

 

“We got him,” Erica said to Derek over the phone. “How’s your end?”

“ _ I’m going to enjoy gutting this pack leader. _ ”

Erica paused, glancing back at Stiles, who just sat lazily in the backseat of his own jeep. He seemed disinterested in everything. Even with Scott by his side, the vampire simply picked at his nails and waited patiently.  
“You might want to hold off on that, just for a little bit,” she cautioned.

“ _Why?_ ” Derek asked, “ _What’s wrong?_ ”  
“He’s not…” she trailed off, “He’s different, Derek. I don’t know what it is, but it’s like he doesn’t know us. I don’t know, it’s just not _our_ Stiles.”

“ _ Bring him, _ ” Derek growled on the other side of the receiver.

Erica ended the call and looked back at her pack members. Scott was watching Stiles with worry painted on his face. Stiles lifted his gaze then, peering at the curly haired individual curiously.

“Well? You heard it,  _ bring me _ ,” Stiles said in a low mocking tone of Derek’s gruff voice. “I’ve got nothing better to do with my time and I’m sure they’ll be a snack at the end of this.” Stiles smirked, almost as if he enjoyed seeing the uncertainty and uneasiness coarse through the werewolves in front of him.

* * *

 

Gracen sat tied to metal chair, vervain-laced rope holding him in place. In the remains of the Hale house, he was singled out by the werewolf pack that inhabited it.

“Stiles!” Gracen hissed, eyeing his scion, Stiles, as the vampire entered his sight. “Take them down! All of them, now!”

Stiles looked to his alpha. “You know, something’s been bothering me ever since I joined your little clustercult.” The vampire drew close, Derek and other alpha following cautiously behind him. “You know what that is? I found that I really don’t like taking orders. From you, or from anyone really. So, no thanks.” He glanced at the house he stood in. “You can go get yourself out of this mess, I’m gonna go find a hot meal.”

The red eyed alpha, Derek, caught his arm as he went to turn. “Stiles―”

“Would you  _ please _ stop looking at me like I’m some kind of mate. I get it, you rescued me from that torture chamber, but I’m not gonna be some werewolf’s little bitch.” Stiles said furiously, “If you don’t remove your paws from me right now, I will have no problem finishing what we started before those hunters interrupted us.”

At that, Derek released Stiles and let him walk. “Scott, keep an eye on him. Get him some blood bags.”

Scott followed Stiles out of the room.

“Blood bags will do nothing for him now,” Gracen mused. “Once a vampire has completed the ceremony, only fresh flesh will supply their needs. Stiles needs a  _ live _ human.”

“How about you tell me what it is you did to him, seeing as you care for this new and improved Stiles,” Derek growled, approaching the vampire slowly.

Gracen released a heavy breath. “I turned him, but I’m surprised he’s grown so strong. He’s exceptional. He’s able to just let it all go. You should see him when he takes humans. Ruthless, he is. An absolute beauty.”

Derek let a low growl escape his throat. “Why is he,” he paused, “like  _ that _ ?” he gestured to the doorway Stiles had exited out of.

“What? Free from his thoughts of doubt?” Gracen raised his eyebrows. “Released from his moral compass?”

“That’s not Stiles!”

Gracen chuckled. “Of course it is, he’s just not the way you like him. He’s detached, almost reborn, you could say. His initiation was a grand success.”

“Bring him back!” Derek hissed, pressing his silver knife to the throat of the alpha vampire.

“And why would I do that?” Gracen challenged. “He’s exactly the way he’s meant to be.”

“He’s exactly the way  _ you _ want him to be!”

“Yes, that is the idea,” Gracen smirked.

Derek put his blade to use then and dug it into the vampire’s stomach. “Tell me how to reverse it.”

“You can’t,” Gracen grunted, hissing in pain. “Stiles’ humanity can only return when he wants it to. He’s in an adjustment period; like an infant figuring out what things are good and bad. Too bad for you, he’s already laid out what he likes and dislikes. And he  _ loves _ to have fun.”

Derek crunched his face in frustration before extracting the blade and lodging it into the vampire’s thigh. “If I found out you laid a single hair on his head―”

“You worry too much, alpha wolf.” Gracen said darkly, “Stiles loved his whole induction ceremony. He loved all of his humans, all of them equally.”

Derek threw a punch, followed by a deep claw down the vampire’s chest. “What did you do to him, you monster?!”

Gracen gasped in pain, regaining his breath. “I simply gave him the menu and he ordered everything I had to offer.”

Derek pulled back, his face red in anger. “You will pay for  _ all _ of this.”

* * *

 

“This is disgusting!” Stiles said, dropping the blood bag in repulsion. “I’m going to get a  _ real _ meal.”

Stiles headed for the door, rolling his eyes. Scott called after him, trying to get him to stay. “Stiles, come on, give it a try!”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll eat you.” Stiles said, pausing at the door. “The only reason you’re alive right now is because you got me out of that basement.”

“Stiles, wait.” Scott said, “Please, just let’s figure something out. We always figure something out, it will be okay.”

The Lamia scoffed, “Do you hear yourself werewolf? You act like we’re friends or something.”

“We  _ are _ friends, Stiles,” Scott pleaded.

Stiles paused.  _ It is something _ , he thought to himself,  _ I don’t know what it is to me _ . He pushed the thoughts away. “You have me confused with someone else,” he said coldly, brushing his way past the werewolf.

* * *

 

_ Derek. It’s name is Derek. It is the leader of the werewolf pack in Beacon Hills. God, I was so ready to get out of here. Too bad Gracen was such a let down. I bet there will be lots of fun in there _ . Stiles looked up at the sign, Beacon Hills Bar and Restaurant.  _ Fuck, I’m starving _ .

The building was nearly empty, something that made sense for the time of day. It was nearly four in the morning. A few stragglers remained, dispersed among the room. Stiles made his way to the one in the corner who sat at a booth. If he was careful enough, he would be able to take all six of them one by one.

“W’d’you ‘nt?” the human mumbled, intoxicated beyond comprehension.

“Shh,” Stiles said, “Be quite.”

The human obeyed, and Stiles let himself go, diving into the human’s fresh taste. The blood tingled, alcohol heavily flooded in its system. It was sweeter than the blood bags, but gone too soon.

He left the body, moving his way to the one at the far end of the bar counter. Nobody had noticed his previous interaction.

“There’s plenty a seats, man. Fug off,” the human shooed at Stiles.

“Keep still,” Stiles whispered at his target. “And don’t say a word.”

The human nodded stiffly, fear coursing in its dialated eyes. Stiles leaned in breathing heavily against its neck and taking in the savory smell of another blood-filled meal. He methodically pierced the skin, feeling the human quake scared beneath his control. When he finished, it dropped soundly to the ground.

The few humans left caught a glance at the situation. 

"I got this. Why don't you go on and get outta here," one of them said. Two rushed to leave, one left into the back room, and the last, who had spoken up, approached Stiles.

“Damn, there goes my dinner,” Stiles hissed, watching the humans flee.

“Stiles?” the human appeared concerned, glancing from the two dead bodies and back to the face of the Lamia.

“Sheriff?” he squinted at the badge, “Stilinski. Oh, right. You’re my sire or some shit.”

_ It is more than that. This one is important. This one cares. This one _ ―  _ Stop _ , he told himself.  _ I have a new life and no human will be a part of it unless they’re there to be the main course _ .

“I’m your father, Stiles.” The human watched curiously, “What happened? I haven’t heard from Scott in a day or so and―”

“Look, I’m not really in the mood to discuss the last few days, especially with a human.” Stiles started his way out of the building. “I’m still pretty hungry and you seem like you’re just gonna be a hassle, so I’m just gonna go and find someone that requires less energy to kill.”

He left the human there, stunned and confused.

_ So much for finding a good meal _ .

“Stiles, wait!” the human rushed after him. “Why are you… like this?”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you,  _ human _ ,” Stiles bit out, turning from the Sheriff once more.

This time the Sheriff grabbed him, stopping the vampire in his tracks.

“You’ve got some nerve, laying your hands on me.”

“I’m not afraid of my own son,” the Sheriff said, eyes looking desperately at Stiles’ cold ones.

_ Those eyes. It’s eyes are so familiar. I know it. It obviously knows me. I can’t. I will not. I do not love this creature.  _ Stiles reasoned,  _ but why do I hesitate? _

“I will not let my boy walk away from me,” the human told him as its voice wavered. “I love you, Stiles, and I will help you through this, even if you think you do not need or deserve the help. I will―”

“You are not my father. You are not my friend. You do not love me,” Stiles hissed, pulling back from the man’s grip. “You are not―”

The human countered him, “I am your father. I am your friend. I do love―”

Stiles scrunched his face in frustration, recoiling from the monster’s touch.  _ It lies _ ! “You are not important to me! You are a worthless human whom’s only purpose is―!”

“―is to love my son, Stiles,” the Sheriff held his hands to the vampire’s face, holding the angered boy’s confusion in the palm of his hands. “I will love you until I die.”

“You are―” tears built up in the vampire’s eyes.  _ It means nothing! He is weak. He is human. This is all a trick! He does not care for you. You are alone in this world. _ Stiles pushed the human backwards, causing him to fall on his back. Stiles gripped his head, closing his eyes tightly.

“Shut up!” he yelled, “This human is nothing. It is weak and deceiving and―” a tear fell from his cheek.

“Stiles, it’s okay, I’m here for you,” the human regained his stance, rushing to Stiles’ side. “Stop fighting―”

“NO!” Stiles cried, shoving the human’s touch away. “You mean nothing to me. I don’t know you. I hate you―”

“Your mother loves you,” the Sheriff said softly. “She always has. She always will.”

Stiles stopped. Tears clouded his eyes.  _ This isn’t me. I know this person. This person _ ―  _ is just human _ ―  _ no, is my father _ ―  _ is lying to you _ ―  _ cares about you _ ―  _ doesn’t know you _ ―

“It’s okay, Stiles.”

_ He is my dad. I love him. _

Stiles watched the face of the human again. He was sincere. He was loving. This human, the Sheriff, his father, the man that raised him, he cares.

“I’m a monster,” Stiles whispered. “I don’t deserve you, dad.”

“But you have me anyways.” The Sheriff pulled him in for a hug. “You will always have me.”

 


End file.
